Three Nuns and Vicar walk in restaurant. My restaurant. No, like so many of my stories, it's not the beginning to a bad joke, it's my life. At this point I would also like to personally thank the heavily intoxicated woman (who, by the way, was wearing enough scent to kill an athsmatic) for trying to make me spill food over her on the offchance she may get a free drink. Firstly, the only drinks you are going to need are water, coffee and the odd hangover cure (although I'm sure some cyanide wouldn't go amiss) and secondly I would hate it if you pushed my arm one more time and I accidently elbowed you in the face. Yeah, it would be awful.
Moan over.
So lately I have been thinking a lot about stress. And me in relation to said stress. I know what you're thinking, everyone has stress. Some people get stress from teachers, parents, bosses co-worker's, family members, boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, doctors, pets, children or anything else that makes mess and noise. Most people's way of dealing with stress is finding it and by cutting it off at source (or at least shortterm spending some good quality time complaining loudly to a stranger about it in a supermarket queue - and as that stranger I am here to ask you all to please seek long term solutions instead. Seriously, if I wanted to know how awful all your problems are I would have added you on Facebook.). But really, for me the problem isn't identifying the source of stress. I know the source of stress - I am well aquainted with that source of stress. I am on first name terms with my source of stress, we know everything about each other - hell we know each others shoe size! (UK size 7 if you were wondering).
It's me, I stress me out.
I push myself to get A's in everything (because you know, if you get full marks on one Nazi Germany paper at the age of 14 that definitely means all your dreams will come true), to make sure I am at least ten minutes early to work, to make sure my family members don't realise that when I said I was 'watching a film round my friends house' I meant 'lying on the floor drunk with my face in a pizza'. My biggest stress of all though, and this is a whopper...wait for it....wait for it... My alltime biggest source of stress... is making sure no one realises how stressed I am.
It's alright, I noticed the hypocrisy, the irony and everything else that comes with being a full time nutter (part-time sane person impersonator). And I can hear you ask, 'but blogger-who-fears-stalking-more-than-anything-else-in-the-world-and-therefore-needs-to-remain-anonymous-so-she-doesn't-stress-herself-out-and-suffer-a-nervous-breakdown-before-the-age-of-20, why don't you just stop. Just tell yourself its ok and move on with your life?'. But you forget perfect stranger; it's me! I am stubborn as a mule, set in my ways stronger than a tile in a bathroom and about as receptive to advice as a partially deaf plank of wood. In other words, I don't listen.
Especially not to someone who had to ask a different waitress to serve three nuns and vicar, because its similarity to a knock-knock joke resulted in her not being able to keep a straightface long enough to ask them what they wanted to drink... 'More tea Vicar?'
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