The Stress – By @chloecordon
By Chloe Cordon
God I’m stressed. Mad, isn’t it. Mad.
D&AD finished last week. Last Wednesday. Like, a week ago. And I’m still stressed. Mad, isn’t it? So I had a little think, and there are a few reasons why I think I’m stressed.
One. Productivity. I actually made stuff for D&AD. Like finished, polished, crafted stuff. And I did it fast. A deadline will do that to you. Now I’m back to scribbled scamps and endless lists of propositions I’ll never do anything with. Whoops. Nothing’s going in the book. Nothing’s being made. It feels rubbish. I’m stressed about it.
Two. Partnerships. Me and Orla stopped having fun for a lil while. I panicked, she panicked, our future babies panicked that they’d never be born into the beautiful thriving campaigns that they’re destined to be. We started bickering like a married couple. I don’t want that for us. I want her to be my hot work wife who I wine and dine on £3 meal deals, and tell all of my hopes, dreams, and aspirations to. I want to go back to the days of shared toilet schedules, team tea breaks, and face swap apps. We’re getting there.
Three. The countdown. 3.5 months. That’s all that’s left. In this time I need to get my shit together, and build a portfolio that will get me a) into Cream, and b) a job. 3.5 months. 3.5 months. I need to sit down. I’m feeling dizzy. I’m sorry to anyone reading this who didn’t realise we have THREE AND A HALF MONTHS oh my god. I’m stressed.
Four. Decisions. I’m going to steal this metaphor from Ian Wharton, who gave us some bob-on insights on Monday. So, I’m in a buffet. There is glorious, glorious food everywhere. And lots of it. What should I eat? Should I try something new? Should I stick to my old favourite? Should I have a little bit of everything? I’m taking my time to think about it. But I’ve mucked up, haven’t I? Indecision is the worst decision, because everything has gone cold and got that horrible crusty layer you get on food that’s been kept warm against its will. Now I can’t have anything. I’m worried I’ll get salmonella or worse. I’m stressed.
Five. Everyone else. They’re either doing tickedy-boo at the moment, or they’re doing tickedy-boo at looking like they’re doing tickedy-boo. I don’t know. It could be either. But I don’t want to be left behind. I’m quite competitive. The race is on already to get the first placement offer, the first job offer, to win an award, get noticed, stand out. In a room full of the most talented people, it’s bloomin hard. I’m stressed about it.
But you know what? Fine. Stress is fine (to a point. Let’s not get silly now). And if I can put up with being stressed for the next three and a half months (cry) and it gets me a cool af placement at the end of it then that’s okay. Three and a half months isn’t a long time (CRY). I will sell my soul to the stressmonster and let it live within me on a short-term tenure. I just hope that the local Sainsbury’s and the give in my jeans can cope with its appetite for pizza and chocolate ice cream.