Ah, stress...

Like any feeling worth having, it takes different forms in different people. For me it's an imaginary claw digging into the exact center of my upper back and an an uncontrollable urge to check Facebook every five minutes. It also results in such I-am-so-going-to-hell thoughts as when I was working at the Motley a little while ago and they started showing a film about African kids with AIDS and all I could think was All right! I get it! You have AIDS! Now could you possibly not talk so much?
To be fair, the film was by a Fulbright grant winner with an obviously inflated sense of self-importance trying to not so much tug on as yank out the audience's heartstrings (sample question: "What is your biggest wish?" not to mention that the film's last sentence was "Most of these children will die needlessly.") And then there was the music: sort of acoustic and emo, but with vaguely African-sounding percussion (Death Cab for Djibouti?)
Incoherent blog rants. That'd be another symptom of stress.
At any rate, my to-do list isn't getting much shorter, but at least it isn't getting any longer. I found an outside thesis reader and ordered the jazz band shirts, and the Russian Special Dinner problem got worked out. The problem is that the twin spectres of Thesis and Will I Get Hired are constantly hanging over my head, and while I can do something about that first one, I have no control over the second.
Once I do find out about it, though, that claw in my back is going to either politely remove itself or tighten up to the point that the Vulcan Death Grip will seem like a soothing massage by comparison...so stay tuned, folks.