it's November already, and I can't sleep

November. 

I am almost hysterically nervous about the entire "will I get the PhD stipend I applied for?!" thing. As I do not allow myself to actually get into the hysterical nervousness that is what I actually feel about this (OH MY FUCKING GODS THIS IS A THING THAT WILL DETERMINE MY LIFE FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUUUUCK), I've been reading for the last... four weeks? It's completely ridiculous. I haven't been reading fiction since I finished my Master's degree - after that I didn't have any time for it, and... now I am just scared as fuck and can't do anything but get ridiculously drunk (impossible due to monetary issues) or read, read, read, read, read to numb and kill off my brain and mind and the associated issues. (I shall post a list of books that I read later.)

I still haven't gotten a notification about the PhD stipend. 

And I noticed that it's already November. I mean, I was perfectly aware of the fact that it's November, because November is WHEN THE PhD STIPEND WILL BE DECIDED UPON. I am shivering with nerves. And I do not mean this in any way hypothetical or theoretical. I am sitting here and shaking like a Parkinson's patient, grinding my teeth (this has been going on for three months, and my teeth are correspondingly shitty - thanks, life) and making the occasional mewling noise. I got enough money to a) buy the meds for Oona's asthma, b) buy alcohol. I would like to be dead-drunk every single second of the day. The whole waiting for the stipend email makes me really, really, really, REALLY FUCKING NERVOUS. I would prefer to carve my eyes out rather than wait and not know. To die. To just off myself, easy way out rather than this. This waiting. What if I don't get the stipend? Shit. I am going crazy with all of this. 

BUT: Storytelling helps. 

Hence:

There was a young woman from Austria living in London who had applied for a PhD stipend that would fix her life for the next three years. When the time came to learn whether she had gotten the stipend or not, she became so nervous that she couldn't sleep properly anymore and felt incredibly nervous. She was shaking all the time, which was bad for her health, but it lent power to the things she had created and commanded to give her that stipend (because she was a little bit crazy, and being a little bit crazy told all the solar and jupiterian critters she had built to get her that stipend). So she was sitting around in her living room, staring at the wall, drinking when she had money to afford alcohol to drink, and generally was a nervous wreck. The stipend in question was a decisive point in her life. For months she had worked to get it, and had succeeded in overcoming lust of result - but these last days before the decision whether she'd get it or not her mind simply refused to be calm. Barely getting four hours of sleep a day she tried to read fiction in order to relax - which worked. But those days during which the reading of fiction worked were the last days of October. Now November had started, and she realised that she was unable to remain calm. She was hungry and nervous. She tried reading fiction, but she didn't have the mental fortitude to do so. She tried reading articles and nonfiction books, but she didn't have the mental fortitude to do so either. So she spent the days staring at the walls, staring at her arms, staring at the floor and staring at the tree in front of her flat. 

Usually, when she wasn't as nervous, she slept about 15 hours a day in order to not focus on her nerves going haywire. But now she couldn't do that anymore, and, down to four hours a day, she became haggard and frazzled. 

Then, finally, on the day that the stipends were going to be sent out, she checked her email inbox. She barely managed to log into her email, being mostly busy with staring at the tree in front of her living room. Leaves fell down in spiralling motions, and she tried to focus onto them - seeing the spirals as they drew themselves into the air, seeing the colours of the leaves that had disassociated themselves from the tree. Seeing. Watching. Breathing. Hoping. Being dead inside, expecting her life to die away under her shaking hands. 

So she checked her inbox. No email from the stipend people. Nothing. More and more nervous, she started to take prescription drugs in order to calm down, to not shake, to not feel her nerves vibrate with anxiety. Sleepless, she continued to sit in front of the computer, compulsively checking her emails. And then - an email. From the stipend people. She breathed in deeply before opening it, and then looked...

....everything was alright, and her life was safe for the next years. She smiled and fell asleep. Everything was beautiful. Life was good. 

...because storytelling helps with reality. Burn it into reality. BURN. I NEED THIS FUCKING STIPEND. I want to sleep again - at the moment I'm down to four hours a day. Which doesn't help at all. Luckily I got red on Monday, which helped with health issues and all that, but I DO NOT KNOW IF I GET THE STIPEND AND I CANNOT RELAX. Fuck this situation. I need drugs to relax and calm down, and I don't have any weed to smoke, which is really not a good thing, since that is the best and surest way to relax. Unless I want to take all the benzodiazepines. And benzodiazepines aren't as healthy. Ah fuck. Shaking. I'm staring out at the tree in front of my window, at the leaves that cover the ground. I watch the leaves fall down from the tree, and I want to scream. Gah. So instead it's Alligatoah, K.I.Z., Trailerpark and Eisregen (again). 

I don't dare to be scared, but nervous is definitely a term I can use. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I want to carve my arm open and burn it so that I can have all the endorphins, but I am aware of the fact that that isn't how shit works. Still. Nervous. Shaking. 

[...] 

Trying to make things better by playing my solar playlist (calling upon my critter-thingie...) - mainly stuff by Satoshi Yagisawa. Which actually helps a bit with the calming down. Maybe I should sacrifice something* - because I'm nothing if not superstitious. I've got two lamb hearts in the fridge, maybe one of those...? DEAR FUCK, I AM MAD WITH PANIC.

I should probably watch some Tokyo Ghoul.

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FN 1: I did sacrifice a lamb's heart, burning it in this very flat. It took about 30', it caused a lot of smoke (luckily I had already disabled the smoke detector a year ago, because crazy occultists do not need a smoke detector that goes off when you make pasta), and I now understand why beer was an integral part of early Neolithic and (pre-)Sumerian cult. You can't fucking eat something like that without beer. All hail the beer. Now I have to air out the flat. This was not a well thought out procedure.