Warning: stress leads to run-on sentences and excessive comma use

Whoa. Did classes actually end nearly two months ago? Really? What the hell have I been doing all this time?

Let's rewind.

First there was the yay!-yay!-we-survived-the-first-semester-of-journalism-school week of partying. During said week I spent my afternoons hungover, in pajamas, writing pages upon pages of funding proposals for my Major Research Project. There was also a massive post-semester apartment-clean-up to take care of - weeks worth of dishes, dust and dirty clothes - and the finding of subletters for said apartment. And also the finishing up of assignments, the paperwork that is required when people give you money to go to school, the endless forms, the hours of laying in bed watching House because of brain pain - as in, excessive over-thinking leading to physical pain that can only be treated with mindless activity such as television-watching.

Then there was the daily newspaper internship, feeling terrified and ill and unprepared, trying to ask as few questions and approach editors with as few problems as possible so as not to be The Annoying Intern. The much too long commute, the arriving home too late and exhausted to do anything except watch more episodes of House or sleep, the wondering if this is my future. And the one day in particular, conducting interviews for a streeter, getting names and quotes and photos quickly, feeling very on top of things, very Kady O'Malley, getting back to the office earlier than expected, feeling accomplished, settling into my desk-nook, having a moment of realization, cursing, screaming inside my head, leaping from my seat and slipping discreetly out of the office, driving back to where I came from, whispering verbal abuse to myself on the highway, finding the street I parked on, seeing my notebook in the middle of the road, bent and tire-marked but magically there, having fallen off the roof of the car where I left it while looking for the keys.

Then there was the letter - Congratulations, you have Major Research Project funding! - and suddenly my to-do list is a scroll that drops from my hands and rolls all the way down Bank Street, and I'm chasing after it, booking flights for San Francisco and Ghana and Rwanda, trying desperately to stay on top of things.

Then there was the trip home to Nova Scotia, gasping at my first intake of salty maritime air, realizing, wow, this is where my respiratory system works best. And then the visiting with family, the three hours of getting along with my brother followed by the classic insults, "You're a douchebag," and warnings "Amy, don't bug me, okay? Don't bug me," in the threatening man-voice. And the eating of so much - too much, way too much - food. Hiking the Cabot Trail, watching hockey playoffs, laying on the patio swing wondering if, in this revolutionary job market, could I find, nay, create, a job that would require me to stay, lounging on this porch swing, all day long? The world would be a better place if people spent more time on patio swings.

Then the flight back to Ottawa, promising myself relaxation and nothingness for the May long weekend, breaking said promise, opting for biking, hiking, a day trip to Montreal.

And now, preparing to move out of my apartment, packing, cleaning, buying storage containers, looking for free-standing mosquito nets, running errands, applying for entry visas. All the while trying to be chill, relaxed about it all, laissez-faire, not at all neurotic. Failing.

Vitamin F, for Fail.

My blog marathon ended abruptly, without a satisfactory finale or Jerry Springer -like conclusion.

A month has gone by since I left you with my last frantic post. I'm a bad, bad blogger.

And (insert shameful sigh here) you may have noticed I didn't post on March 31, which means, technically, I failed in my mission to blog everyday for a month. I blew it on the last day. Oops.

If it makes any difference I did write a final blog entry, but at the last minute I decided it was too pathetic to post. I wrote it close to midnight at the peak of my end of the semester madness.

It started innocently enough.

I was thinking today about how I need to start taking vitamins. But I don't know a lot about vitamins so I'm wondering if someone can help me figure out which type to take.

But it quickly spiraled into a desperate confession of a semester's worth of poor health habits.

What vitamin do you take if you don't get enough sleep or exercise? Or if you spend your days guzzling coffee and beer while your Brita sits empty in the fridge until a Saturday morning hangover knocks on the inside of your skull?

It gets more pathetic.

What if you buy vegetables but they rot in your refrigerator because you don't have time to wash, chop or cook them? And you chow down on carbs for breakfast, lunch and dinner because it's easier, damn it, to grab a bagel or a box of Kraft Dinner than it is to prepare a satisfying nutritious meal. What vitamin do you take to compensate for that?

And what if some nights you forget to have dinner but on others you gobble an entire Ristorante quattro formaggi pizza in bed while watching seven consecutive 43-minute episodes of House on your laptop?

My brain was on empty and had switched to its reserve store of fuel - a day's worth of caffeine. I could feel the effects intensely in the parts of my body I needed the most. My right eye was twitching, hands shaking, heart thumping through the T-shirt I'd been wearing for days.

What vitamin should you take if every muscle and bone in your body aches...all the time?

I'll stop there. The rest is just delirious, and even more embarrassing.

But perhaps there's something positive to be said about my last minute blog marathon fail. At least the unposted entry proves that even lowly bloggers - the pond scum of the mediasphere - have editorial mechanisms.

(Even if said "mechanisms" are self-imposed and driven by shame).

Descent into end of the semester madness

Do you ever just want to hide? In your room or your apartment or your bed, or wherever it is you like to escape?

In high school and undergrad I would take a sick day if I felt like I needed a break. A mental health day.

In Bootcamp that simply can't happen. Cold? Get the hell out of bed. Flu? Get your ass in gear. Tired? Ha! Find a new job.

Maybe I'll skip the elevator in the morning and run down all nine flights of stairs. I might get lucky and break a leg.