I couldn't take my finals. I was too sick. I talked to my professors beforehand, and they all looked at me and said "Yeah, you're sick. Go to the doctor, get a note, and come take a make-up final within 5 weeks time." So I went to the doctor, or actually a Nurse Practioner (just like My Doctorish Friend, only without a cute nickname; without a cute anything, as a matter of fact--she was one hard-nosed, no-nonsense woman. Although I guess the fact that she was really short was kind of cute). To my great surprise she checked me out, and she told me that I was actually sick. Actually sick? You mean I'm not just a big slacker? I wasn't just unconsciously faking it because I'm inherently lazy and irresponsible? It's strange, but there was a part of me that never stopped believing that I was faking it the whole time. There's a part of me that thought that I should have been able to take the finals, only I was too lazy and stupid. The whole time that I was talking to my professors about being sick, I was playing up my symptoms, because I was positive that I wasn't really sick, and was sure that I just manipulating the system because it would give me extra advantage, not because I actually needed to (which made me feel very guilty, but also very clever at the same time).

So the lady gave me her letter, verifiying that I went to see her, prescribed me some Flonase, and told me to go home, drink fluids, and relax. So I went to work and took care of some loose ends there, went to the pharmacy to get my prescription filled, went to the computer lab to send out some e-mails, then went to drop off my verification letter at the various departments of my professors. And as I was walking out of Celeste Lab, where the undergraduate chemistry offices are located, I was thinking "What do I need to do now? What am I supposed to do?" I thought for a moment, and I realized that there wasn't anything else for me to do, that it was time for me to do what my doctor said, to go home and relax. I had just set off to go do this, when I started to feel rather strange. I stopped in front of my bike, my keys in my hand, and just stared at the ground. I was trying to think about what I was supposed to do to relax, but I couldn't. There were no thoughts. I couldn't think of how to relax. I had no idea what to do. The answer, of course, is obvious: I'm not supposed to do anything. Which makes sense...but for some reason this idea unnerves me. I was searching and searching for a plan of action, and there wasn't any. Honestly, I felt scared. Scared of relaxtion, scared of doing nothing.

What the fuck? What's so frightening about doing nothing? Well, part of it is that I feel like if I'm not doing anything then the world is going to fall apart all around me, that all the things that need to get done just won't get done, and that I'll have heavy consequences to pay for it later. Yeah, that's definitely a plausible sounding explanation. But the REAL reason I'm afraid to not do anything, my inner, secret motivation, is that I know from past experience that if I'm not doing anything, then I'm naturally going to become more aware of what's going on inside of me. I'm going to have to face myself, intimately; hear my voice inside of me, hear my thoughts, feel my feelings, become a part of myself again.

Fuck that. That's scary. I will do anything to stop that from happening. I'd rather fuck all day, drink 'till I pass out, and work myself until my body can't take it anymore, before I let that happen.