Oh, Why Can't There Really Be Eight Days in a Week?

I hate change.

Alright, so I don't hate change, per se. It's more like I hate abrupt change. Like the change of leaving camp and beginning the school year.

Now, most people don't consider a week's rest between these two events within the definition of abrupt change. However, I like my change to have a glacial pace, sort of a comfortable middle ground between the time it takes for a species to evolve and the approximate age of the universe. I need to be able to square myself with the fact that life is taking a sharp turn and-- I'm sorry-- a week just doesn't cut it. When I think about the renovations the dorm room is going to need, the books I have to buy, the schedules I have to work out... I get a little ill.

I don't mean to complain; clearly, a week is plenty of time in the grand scheme of things. And it's not something I haven't done before. Good G-d, I'm going to be a junior! Get over it already!

But it's not that easy. I find myself falling into the same patterns that have marked my life forever. When faced with stress, I try to escape it by sleeping, reading, or surfing the internet. In fact, my behavior mirrors that of the severely depressed in that I will do anything to not think about the problems at hand, even if it is detrimental to everyone around me. The sad thing is that I know I'm doing it even while it's happening and I simply cannot shake it off. How pathetic.

I guess that something I'm just going to have to work on. If my spring semester is going to be anything like I'm planning, I'll have to face far more severe changes than this. Getting myself to Scotland? Finding my way around a new university? Deciphering Scottish accents? Making my way down the Heathrow to fly on some G-d-forsaken airline to Israel on my own?

Oh dear. I'm screwed. :(

K.