Hitting the Wall at One Thousand Miles Per Hour

I call my mom with good news and a question. I'm expecting a short conversation because I don't have time for anything else. I end up talking with her for half an hour. Venting about my stress over work. Trying really hard not to cry.

I stop at the school coffee shop to get a mug of tea on my way to the office to work on a paper. The girl working asks what I want. I reply, "A large..." and then there is a gaping pause. I am staring at the box of tea, which has the name of the tea printed in large letters on the front of it, but somehow am completely unable to read the name, translate it into something that means anything and then articulate that this is indeed what I want. I pause for a good 30 seconds before finally finishing my order with "...Cranberry Pomegranate tea." I wander away with mug in hand thinking that this is not a good sign for the rest of my day.

I am looking for a book on my desk. Searching every pile. Lifting papers. Only to realize that about five minutes ago I put it right in front of me. It's sitting there, open to the page I want. Somehow I wasn't aware of doing this though.

"Sometimes when I'm stressed it is like language stops having meaning. I look at words and they mean nothing. People talk to me and I can't understand them even though they are speaking English." This is how Bean responds when I tell her my coffee shop story. And this is exactly how I feel now. I'm trying to write a paper. I have an outline. I have an introduction. But it is like I no longer speak the language of academia. I stare at the screen, waiting for something to form some sort of meaning.

Part way through writing my paper I make up a word. I know there is a real word that means this, but I cannot think of it. I can't even think of a vaguely accurate word. I leave it and keep fighting my way forward. Every so often I look back at it, hoping that the real word will suddenly land on my consciousness. Instead every time I look at it I feel like I am losing even more of the English language. Even the conviction that there is an actual word that means what I'm trying to say has left.

I have officially hit the wall of stress at approximately 1000 mph. I knew it was coming. It was inevitable. I was moving too fast for there to never be a collision. But it sure is unpleasant.