Skip to main content

60. Ted's classes were over because it was Wednesday today.

Ted's classes were over because it was Wednesday today. Wednesdays were half days for Ted, giving him room for a mix of responsibilities: library work, projects, homework, assignments, shopping, laundry, sports practice—or whatever else demanded his attention. Yet today, he felt utterly overwhelmed.

Ted wasn’t sure how he was going to manage his time. His mind felt like a jumbled schedule with no clear priorities. To make matters worse, Electrical Technology assignments were already overdue, and there was no way he could ask for another extension. He knew his professor wouldn’t be forgiving this time.

The vibration problem graphs, charts, tables, and reference models were all in place, but the oscilloscope readings—voltage and current gains, phase shift data —still needed to be checked. Were the assumptions and calculations even correct? He wasn’t sure anymore. Every time he tried to double-check his work, his head swam with numbers that no longer seemed to add up.

Ted’s life was becoming more burdensome by the day. The pressures of academia, expectations, and his own perfectionism weighed heavily on him. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up with it all. Would he suffer a mental block? A complete psychological breakdown? Depression? He was experiencing a burnout, feeling consumed, decimated to be a spent force. The thought alone made his chest tighten.

Maybe I need to do some more Savasana, he thought, recalling the calming posture that had once helped him regain balance. It was ironic to think of stillness in the midst of such chaos, but what choice did he have?

He reached Egg 27, his shared flat, as his thoughts raced in circles. His feet felt heavy, dragging across the hallway carpet as he juggled his bag and a loose stack of papers threatening to slip from his grasp. Once inside, the familiar clutter greeted him: half-empty mugs of tea, a pile of unread notes on the desk, and his perpetually unmade bed.

Dropping his bag onto the chair with a thud, he sighed and looked around, wondering where to even begin. The weight of his responsibilities was suffocating, yet a small part of him held on to the hope that he could somehow pull through. For now, though, he needed to sit down, breathe, and figure out his next move—one small step at a time.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

64. Ted’s trip to Kingston was a turning point in his budding engineering journey.

Ted’s trip to Kingston was a turning point in his budding engineering journey. It had been an event he had looked forward to for weeks—a gathering of the brightest minds in design and innovation at Kingston University. The annual engineering design exhibition was known for its competitive atmosphere and the prestige it offered to students who could showcase their talent. Ted’s entry was a structural design project that combined theoretical rigor with practical ingenuity. His model of a modular suspension bridge, designed to adapt to varying terrain and load conditions, was the result of countless sleepless nights, meticulous calculations, and a steady stream of trial-and-error experimentation. The day at Kingston had started with nerves. As Ted set up his display, he felt the weight of expectation. Students and professors from across the region had gathered, their projects equally impressive. Some featured sleek robotics, others intricate fluid dynamics simulations. But Ted’s bridge st...

69. Ted’s Night at Egg 27

Ted’s Night at Egg 27 Ted pushed open the heavy front door of the student house, his shoulders weighed down by the exhaustion of another relentless day. The hinges groaned in protest, an eerie whisper against the night’s stillness. As the door shut behind him with a soft thud, familiar scents wrapped around him—the stale aroma of old books from Room 1 on the ground floor, the sharp tang of instant noodles, and the damp musk wafting from the upstairs kitchen. It was the unchanging symphony of student survival. He paused for a moment behind the closed door, bracing himself for whatever chaos the kitchen held tonight. The air above seemed charged, a silent storm brewing. The stairs loomed ahead, each step a reminder of the ever-present minefield of Egg 27’s communal life. Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, trying to untangle both his locks and his thoughts. The day had drained him—lectures that stretched into eternity, group projects built on forced enth...