See these boxes? They weren’t supposed to grace our apartment for another couple of weeks.

In August, Mom and I decided to move. We’re living in a beautiful apartment in a beautiful complex. It’s a gated community with covered parking, granite countertops, and a full-size washer/dryer in every unit. But it’s way too expensive for us. We need to downsize and found a perfect little community that fit our budget.

So, when I said I was stressed before? Man, I didn’t even know! We only have one week to pack. We also have to set up cable and liability insurance before move-in. And the move-in fees? $1,400, which, thankfully, includes October’s rent. Basically, money is going to be non-existant for me until my next paycheck in October. Honestly, right now, I have no idea how we’re going to work this out. Money issues are keeping me up at night.

My mom sent my apartment complex an e-mail Thursday night to tell them we are able to move out before October 5th. (Although, frankly, I would’ve waited until Monday and let her sweat all weekend about it.) And now the office manager has been acting very strange. Before, when she told us about the new tenant, it was all roses: You’ll get any unused rent and your security deposit. And now? She’s telling us that any damages and cleaning they’ll have to do will be taken out of the security deposit.

Under normal circumstances, this would be fine. But these are not normal circumstances. We are, in a sense, being rushed out of our apartment. We won’t have the time (or the money) to clean the carpets. (Which is our main concern.) Everything else will be spic-and-span. My mom once read some reviews about our complex after we moved in here and one lady talked about how awful they were to her when she moved out. And how much they overcharged her. And it looks like the same might be happening to us.

Anyway, it’s going to be a long week. I still haven’t gotten the OK to take Friday and Monday off from my job, which I’m worried about. We have so much stuff to pack and get rid of. And I have 3 exams this week and a paper due.

Honestly, I just want to bypass the next 3 weeks. I want to be all settled into the new apartment with money in my bank account.

I haven’t wanted to admit it. First of all, I don’t like to complain. (Unless it’s about how much I don’t want to exercise.) Secondly, I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer. But, after 4 weeks of classes, it’s finally hit me: Stress.

Stress + Stephany = Crabby Pants.

I don’t deal with stress well. I get crabby, short with people, and consume my body weight in chocolate. I’m really scared of what I’m going to be like around November, when the tough projects come rolling in. (Hello, case studies.)

I’ve never worked a part-time job while going full-time at school. Actually, scratch that because I did work in my school’s bookstore at the end of 2006, beginning of 2007. But I only worked maybe 10 hours a week and was taking easy-as-pie education classes.

I’m working 30 hours a week. My alarm goes off at 5:15 a.m. Monday through Friday. After class, four days a week, I rush to campus where I try to stay awake to listen to boring exciting lectures. On Mondays, I get a semblence of a break until I have to sit at my computer from 7 p.m. until 8:45 p.m., logging onto my online class’ Virtual Classroom. Then come Tuesdays, my longest day. I have work, afternoon class, a break, and then class from 6 p.m. until 9 p.m. And it’s not even a fun class. (Although, it could be. They just choose to be boring about it.)

Luckily, my week gets better starting on Wednesday. I’m done with work/classes by 3:15 p.m., which is heavenly. And I usually don’t start any homework until Friday night, at the earliest. (Yes, I do homework on Friday nights. You can see how extremely exciting my life is.) But this means my nights are usually free for me to bum around online, watch lots o’ TV, and catch up on my reading.

It’s a busy schedule. I wouldn’t say I’m at the level I was at during my “final” internship in fall 2008, but I’m getting there. And, really, it’s not half as bad as many people. I live with my mom, which means I don’t have too many responsibilities. I don’t have any children to care for. And most of my nights are free for me.

So why am I so stressed out? My mom and I have gotten in more small arguments in the past 3 days than we have all year! I’ve come up with a list (because who doesn’t love a good list?):

1. I’m sleepy – I’ve been going to bed way too late for someone who has to be up at 5:15 a.m. The past 3 days, I’ve gone to bed past 11:30, which means I’m getting less than 6 hours of sleep. And I’m a 9+-hours-of-sleep-a-night type of girl. I don’t function well when I’m exhausted.
2. We’re moving – Our lease for this amazing-yet-way-too-expensive apartment is up October 15, so we’ve already put a deposit on another apartment, closer to my school and my mom’s work. But we put our deposit in very early so we haven’t exactly secured an apartment yet. I’m a little anxious about that and don’t relish the thought of yet another move. (This will be my 14th move. And no, I wasn’t a military brat.)
3. Flab to fab – It hasn’t been working out as brilliantly as I had hoped. I don’t want to get too in depth, since I’ll be blogging about it tomorrow, but I’m getting really disappointed in myself. I’ve been feeling that I’m destined to be fat. (Lane Bryant…here I come!)

All of the issues, combined with my classes, projects, and work (which can be a VERY stressful job on most days), have gotten me to this point. Blogging about it has helped. I started this blog, not knowing I would find out why I am stressed. And now it’s just a matter of moving forward, making changes, and battling with the stress demon.

I really meant to write this post yesterday and now I feel dorky for writing it today. But I wanted to write about it. It’ll be my first time ever really talking it.

September 11, 2001.

I was 13 years old. (Don’t hate!) I was an eighth-grader in middle school and had never heard of the World Trade Center before then.

As is true with just about everyone else, I began my day like normal. I was taken to school by bus, joked around with friends until the bell rang, and settled into my first-period class. I listened to the announcements and noted that it was one of my many crushes, Marc’s, birthday. (And later felt sad as we loaded onto the bus at the end of the day that his birthday was never going to be the same again.)

I ambled along to second period and it wasn’t until I was coming into my third-period class that I heard the news.

“The Word Trade towers fell down and went boom.”

That’s what one of my classmates said to me. Not the best way to describe what happened. And believe me, we let her have it. In the classes that followed, we sat and watched CNN as they described the tragedy. I didn’t quite grasp the severity of what had happened.

What was the World Trade Center? Why would someone choose these towers to crash into? And how does it affect me? I have no family living in New York. I was in no shape or form involved in politics.

In my sixth-period class, my assistant principal visited us and led a Q-and-A session where we could voice our questions and get some facts.

I went home and immediately turned on the TV. It was scary. Our country had just been the victim of terrorism. Lives had been lost. People were missing. And the country was in disarray.

But I also remember how our country pulled together. We were no longer Republicans, Democrats, and independents. We were Americans. We drew together as a country. And I know other things were happening, under the Patriot Act. But, as a young 13-year-old, I didn’t notice that. Maybe I noticed what the media wanted me to see. But when I think back on September 11, 2001 and the aftermath that followed, I remember patriotism. I remember coming together as a country. I remember feeling scared yet hopeful.