What the hell?

First day of classes, woo-hoo, whatever, blah blah blah.

It sucked.

Not my classes themselves.  Those were actually okay.  It was just the rest of the day that was terrible; I mean, other than my scar killing me, my elbow throbbing (wtf, mate?), and my comically unexpected panic attack, the day was just fucking fantastic.

I say "comically unexpected" because I completely should have expected it.  The day didn't start out well; I got very little sleep and was almost late for my first class of the quarter.  (Thank you, Rachel, for not letting me do that.)  Then I had two classes, came home, and in my infinite wisdom, didn't eat anything.  "I'm not hungry," I reasoned with myself.  "I only have one more class, and it only goes until five.  I'll be fine until then, and then I can eat something good and hearty when I get back."

No.  Huh-uh.  My 3-5 Criminal Justice class looks really cool, and I was really excited about it, but about a quarter of the way through the class I started getting this weird tingling in my fingers.  (This is one of my warning signs of a panic attack.)  I could have gotten up then and gotten something to drink, walked a little bit, and probably the attack would have gone away.  But no.  I didn't believe it could be an attack, because it had been so long since I'd had one, especially in class!!  "This isn't what I think it is," I reasoned (again in my infinite wisdom).  "This is something else, I'm just hungry or tired or something."

But that was the problem.  I was hungry, I was tired, but I was also definitely having a panic attack.  By then it was too late to get up and walk the halls.  Getting up and immediately falling on my ass was a real possibility.  So I sat exactly where I was and struggled to focus on the professor, who was busy lecturing (on the first day of class, btw...who does that?  Mean.)  So I sat there.  It passed, like it always does, but because I was already so tired and hungry it just depleted every last ounce of energy in my body.  

When I finally got home (after spending 400$ on textbooks), I was not only tired, hungry, and shaky from the attack, but now I was in a terrible mood.  Rachel called me on it, which is completely fair, and she told me that she "could read me," and even when I tried to hide it from her, she could tell I was feeling bitchy.  I'm almost proud that she only saw the bitchiness...she didn't see the shaky-leftover-panic-attack mess that was me.  She can read me, hell yes she can, but I'm not as bad an actor as all that.

The only one of those feelings that's been rectified was "hungry."  I ate a peanut butter sandwich because I sure as hell didn't feel like cooking.  Dinner of champions.  Don't judge.

But the others persisted.  Even as I'm writing this, at 1:15am, my hands are shaking.  I'm tired (exhausted wouldn't be an exaggeration here), but I'm not sleepy.  Anyone with insomnia will tell you there is a cruel difference.

And, as you can tell, I'm still not in the best of moods.  But believe me, this is a massive elevation compared to earlier.  My scar is still killing me, and just to make things 1000 times better, I banged my elbow in the shower.  Yeah, I'm awesome at life.  I know it.

So there it is.  That was my day.

How was yours?