Friday was Streeter day. In my journalism class, we have 1 hour and 50 minutes to interview at least two people, write a story, and hand it in. I was very pleased with myself for getting not only two interviews, but four! I thought the story would be quick and easy to write. Wrong! I got caught up in doing research to add some meat to my story, and just plumb ran out of time. No editing, no story completion. Just a bunch of random facts and quotes mashed together, with no string attaching any of them. I was sweaty and my nerves felt raw by the end. I handed something in, I don't know what, and don't really want to look at it now.
I felt like a failure. I felt vulnerable. I felt like my nerves can't handle this type of overload. Riding the bus home, I started to calm down. A woman sitting across from me was eating take-out and her mouth smacking was grossing me out just enough to help me forget about my stress.
By the time I got home, the fight-or-flight response had subsided, and I no longer felt like my future was in jeopardy because of one botched assignment. I bought some Froot Loops, and crunched my way into the comforts only sugar can provide.