With every day slipping by, I realize that the deadline is looming before me, dangerously close, and the taste of stress seems bitter, sardonic, and nearly heart-wrenching. I remember my happy-shopping days, and happy-reading days, and happy-cookie days, and baking-days and beach-walks. Now, its just working-days, and memo-making days, and laundry-days, and infrequent lazy-days, and hanging around the campus days, and the occasional (or not so) beer-drinking days. Excruciating amounts of work, coupled with less incentive, equals over-stressed person.