Sandystorm

Sandy. A storm of the physical sense.

A storm the reporters obsess over.

The largest since 1988.

I’m not particularly concerned.

The real storm is in my head.

A homework hurricane.

A “how-can-I-possibly-do-this?!” cyclone.

A storm of epic proportions.

A gale that blows my mind.

A tempest-like tornado of topsy-turvy twists and turns.

A windstorm of work, work, work.

An exercise elevated.

A blizzard of busywork.

A stress-induced racket in my head

That I can’t seem to catch a break from.

How much is too much?

If the wind is blowing 75 miles per hour

And you can’t handle it?

How big will this Sandy-storm get

Before people start dying

Of sleep-deprivation, stress, and sorrow?

I don’t know.

But I won’t let myself be concerned anymore.

I’m tracking this storm,

Making a plan and preparing for the power outages

And the aftermath that is sure to follow.