i remember throwing up in the sink right in the middle of writing my thesis in college.
it was an anxiety attack. i was going on a deadline, had written X number of pages in a sleepless marathon (because sometimes i can’t let go until i finish something to the end) and i was really, literally, just “worried sick” that i wouldn’t be able to finish it on time.
of course, i did finish it on time, printed it out without proofreading, and delivered it “hot off the printer” to my thesis adviser. to this day i haven’t reread that thing, although i know there’s a copy in the library, somewhere. it was far from brilliant. technically it was a book report (they didn’t allow me to do anything creative, that was for the creative writers.) i just wanted to get over the hurdle.
afterwards, i lay down on the flower box (that’s gone now) outside the english department, just happy it was over and done with.
i remember hoping at the time that the guy with the banjo (or was it a saxophone?) would be hanging out near meron lagoon, and that he would play something happy and distracting.
right now i’m feeling a bit overwhelmed. so i’m reminded of that little time-shot of stress and relief.
i’m wondering if that guy with the banjo still randomly plays in public now, and if strangers who never talk to him would eavesdrop so they could get a laugh, and get over themselves for a little while.