AHH!

Dear Stress,

I hate you. Mostly.

I know that adrenaline is a variant of you, and I know that I don’t mind a pinch of that.

But mostly, I hate you. When I have a lot to do, you creep in, and keep me from doing anything. I worry about falling asleep, and then you keep me from sleep. I spend every waking hour with you. I wake with you, eat with you, make it through my day with you, and fall asleep with you. Like a new mom, I cherish time without you, but also worry if you’re not close enough for me to watch you. My list of things stretches into oblivion, and you’re always there: stress about oboe, stress about piano, stress about chemistry, and not understanding Friday’s homework. Stress about the Hamlet project due, and stress about the APUSH test. Stress about making science fair work, and making it to pep band on time. Stress about prom, and econ, and Konda’s moods. Stress about stress, and my own health. For never writing to you before, I seem to have intimate relationship with you.

I hope you die,

S