I’m sorry it’s been so long. It’s been difficult for me to be funny lately, for several reasons. Between a dear friends cancer diagnosis, five finals , two music juries, one composition project, four research papers, and sickness… it’s been a tough couple of weeks. The worst part is my habit of trying to keep a happy face on and trying to keep up my energy. I know everyone is stressed this time of year, and doesn’t need to hear about my problems, and I know my friend needs my strength and optimism right now, not to be burdened with my anxiety and sadness. Plus, my phone was stolen, so I don’t have the option of calling a friend or my parents just to vent when I feel like I’m going to lose it. I’ve been keeping it together pretty well, but yesterday, everything came to a head.
I had to go to a professor’s house to turn in my final research paper for her class. She had invited us all over (there are only about fifteen students) to have dinner and turn in our assignments. My ride and I missed each other at our meeting spot, so, panicking when it hit 4:05, five minutes after the assignment was due, I jumped in a cab. My phone was stolen, so I had no way of communicating with anyone. I knew the professors street, so I asked the cabby to drive me in the right direction.
When we got there, I confessed that I didn’t know her house number or what the house looked like, and he advised me to get out of the cab so that he could go back to campus and ferry people to and from the airport. I did, and suddenly, I found myself stranded on a street about five miles from campus, with no phone, and no idea which house I had to get in. I ran up and down the entire street in the heat for about twenty minutes, getting increasingly more panicked, the stress from the last few weeks compounding with my fear of not getting my paper turned in on time and missing work that night – and not being able to call my boss to explain, worse.
I finally chose a house that had a lot of cars out front and knocked. Nothing. Disheartened, I slowly walked away from the house, officially giving up.
The door swung open behind me, and I heard my professor’s voice. I swear, in that moment, it was like the voice of an angel. I turned around, and, seeing a familiar face wearing a sympathetic expression, I burst into tears. I must have looked like a refugee or victim of some heinous crime, hot, sweaty, crying, clutching my essay and standing in the middle of the road, because my professor shut her front door, walked out onto the porch, and sat down on her front porch, patting the step beside her.
That’s how I ended up sitting on my professor’s front steps pouring my heart out to her – a fearsome federal judge, by the way, who normally scares the pants off me. The most intimidating woman I know rubbed my back and listened to me, hiccupping, explaining how I got to her house and why my paper was late. When I finished my story, she said, calmly, “Well, I certainly won’t penalize you. Just take a deep breath.”
I tried, and ended up coughing up a lung.
“Now, tell me what’s really wrong.”
“What?” I sniffed, wiping my cheeks.
“You’re a very capable and level-headed young lady; there must be something else you’re upset about to be in this awful state.”
To her credit, she sat and listened to me tell her about everything – and there’s a lot – which has gone wrong in the last two weeks, making sympathetic clucking noises and patting my hand occasionally. When I was done, she said, firmly, “Well, you’ve had a very rough time. I can see that. I think I know what you need. You need to come inside and have some dinner, and have a drink, take the afternoon off, and pretend you don’t have any responsibilities or worries.”
With that, she ushered me into her house and proceeded to serve me free food and pour me a glass of wine. When I protested, saying I had to go to work and that I was underage (she’s a federal judge, mind you), she said, in her most intimidating judge voice, “Sweetheart. I insist. You really, really need it."
You may be wondering where the awkwardness begins. Well, I did go to work after this. I had worn myself out with a combination of stress, tears and no sleep. I don’t think I’ve really slept more than five hours in two weeks, and never soundly. Result? I promptly fell asleep on the couch of the academic center where I work, and woke up to find my students and coworkers standing around me laughing because I was drooling all over the burnt orange throw pillows. Apparently I’d been sleeping hard for fifty minutes, mouth open, still as a corpse, during my walk-in tutoring hours. A supervisor told me on my way out of the office that he’d walked by, seen me, and hadn’t known whether to “laugh out loud or pity you, because you looked like a worn-out little lost puppy.”
Moral of the story. Don’t let yourself get so stressed out and tired that you have a breakdown in front of your professors. Also, don’t hate on your professors. They can be some of the coolest people in the world. And finally, close your mouth before you fall asleep in public.
On a bright ending note, classes are over. And compared to the hell this past week was in terms of due dates, finals are going to be a breeze. Plus, I am taking my professors advice again and taking today and tomorrow. Absolutely no studying. None.
Oh wait... I really should catch up on that music history. Never mind. Time to hit the books again!
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