Who Ever Thought Panic Could be a GOOD Thing?

Lost: one slightly oversized set of panic.
Last seen: approximately one year ago.
Reward offered: never mind, you don't want any.

It used to be, when I got close to a big deadline and the relevant task was (as usual) nowhere near complete, panic would kick in, activating adrenaline and a compulsion to finish the job at hand, despite exhaustion and other physical discomfort. The last time I remember having that feeling was during my move from NYC to Ithaca last year, although it might have surreptitiously checked in once or twice last semester. Its companions, anxiety and nervousness, didn't go anywhere. They're still my pals. But all they do is send me (and my tummy) in circles. They don't actually make anything get done.

I thought this little vacation my panic took had to do with my situation in school. This time around, it saw it wasn't needed to keep me from flunking out, and that I'd be able to get done pretty well without it. Thankfully, it was right.

It'd come in handy right about now, though, but it's still AWOL. I have an entire apartment full of belongings, all over the floor, in boxes and out of them, on the walls and partly on the shelves, and I have so little energy or motivation to do anything about it that it might all get put away in its proper place and cleaned by next week, if I'm lucky.

Oh, yeah, and did I mention I'm supposed to start work this Wednesday, specifically because I went out of my way to avoid any further delay in my start date? My only out (which also probably plays a small part in my lethargy) is my hacking cough and froglike voice, which is giving me a major headache. Every time I cough my brain feels like it bumped into my forehead.

I needed a cheerleading squad. Now all I need is cough syrup and a TV. And, uh, a continuance?