Flailing.

One time, just for fun when I was younger, I tread water in the pool at the YMCA for as long as I could, just because. It's really tiring, trying to keep yourself afloat. Your arms become noodles, really. And your legs tire, and the water keeps getting in your damn mouth.

You know what happens when you can't keep it up? YOU DROWN.

This is exactly how I'm feeling right now at this exact minute. My new job is an adjustment. I've been a reporter for four years. I'm hardly new, yet still have things to learn. But right now I feel like I've NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE.

I juggle two deadlines a day. I'm pumping something out for the first when - HOLY SHIT - the second's already here! My stories need to cater to a very specific audience, and every story I've written so far has been dished back to me covered in red ink. Not literally, of course.

But my instructions have been as follows: "Call this person, and that. You missed this, and don't forget to ask that question. What about this? And that? And did you call him? Your story is lacking this, too. Get it to me by noon. Oh, and that other story, too."

FUCK.

I do admit I'm being mildly dramatic. I have a small amount of faith that as time continues, I'll catch on. Two deadlines will be the norm, I'll know the right questions to ask the first time, not the third.

But right now I am flailing. And I always struggle in the flail position. I panic. My brain completely shuts down, and the only thing I can think of to do is write down, in a list, just how horrile everything in the whole, wide world is. Or I blog. As you can see.

When I panic about one thing, it snowballs into another, and suddenly I'm having a coronary because Verizon just sent me a text message to warn me I'm about to go over my minutes (AGAIN!) and quick! Do something! Does Verizon not know I still can't afford my PREVIOUS bill in which I went way the hell over my allowed minutes?

FYI: I am calling Verizon today to increase my allowed usage.

But when it rain, it pours, as we know. Like, for real. Have you seen the flooding? My God.

And so I'm sitting here, a small ball of nerves, waiting to crack. And when I crack it will be messy and it might involve hyperventilation. And perhaps some guts and insides and things like that. Ew.

Deeeeep breath.

Does anyone have a bosom for which I could lay my weary head and be soothed?