Betsy Whitt

I read. I write. I think. I live.

Category: Panic

Residency Ahoy!

Yes, still moderately panicked, but I got three hours of sleep and now it’s off to the airport. I’ll try to update again, at least a little bit, before Wednesday, but we all know I’m bad at blogging during residency.

Time to go!

(p.s. I sound so cheery because if I wasn’t artificially cheerful, I would immediately fall back asleep, and then I would miss my plane, and it would all go downhill from there. whee!)

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AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

I have officially hit the panic threshold.

No time for details.

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There Is No Good Title For This

I’m just poking my head up to assure everyone that I am still alive, just a bit overwhelmed. Last week I buried myself in wrapping, gifting, receiving, opening, and enjoying presents. Also involved there was a determined effort NOT to think about all the things I had to get done between Christmas and the New Year, and then again the things that will need to happen in the four days between the wedding (where I’ll be right after New Year’s) and residency (where I’ll have to teach, defend my thesis, participate in all the normal residency stuff, and graduate).

I actually had two different to do lists (I have no idea if I wrote about them before). One was things that needed to happen before Christmas, and the other was things I didn’t need to worry about until after Christmas. The morning of the 26th, I pulled out the second list, and immediately became depressed. There’s quite a bit to do, even if you don’t throw in the fact that I’m the one in charge of laundry (which, consequently, has not been done in a week and a half), and the apartment is a huge mess, and I really would rather just read the books I got for Christmas than deal with any of it.

Christmas was nice, by the way. Thanks for asking. I hope yours was swell.

Now I have to go ignore my work some more.

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Remember the Panic Threshold?

I was just making a list of the things I need to do in the next few months (and the things I’m doing whether I need to or not, like driving to central New York) and I feel a distinct knot of panic settling somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. The next month is particularly panic-inducing.

Someone (*coughcough* Will *cough*) suggested that I might have to curtail my reading for a while. Can you hear me wailing like the Wicked Witch of the West in the shower?

Remember how we’re out of chocolate chips and potatoes? Harbingers of the apocalypse? Clearly, I was not exaggerating.

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