Causes of Stress

Things are stressful for me at the moment. Group projects aren't going as planned, I'm feeling a lot of (undue?) pressure from my advisor (who also happens to be the director of my programme), funding for next year is uncertain, I don't know what I'm going to do about health insurance.....

However, these things come and they pass. I try to find solutions, I slog through and overcome. Other things are constant, low (or not so low) level, background things. I've tried to deal with it, we've talked, compromises have been attempted. In the end, I'm the one doing all the things necessary to keep my/our surroundings pleasant.

We're all busy, aren't we? Surely, though, a civilised human being ought to have certain standards. Moocow, please tell me I was never this bad!? I apologise for how messy I was growing up. I didn't fully appreciate how stressful it is to have to face this every day. It isn't just mess; it's filth.
That stand you can see (and the guck that, hopefully, you can't) is a turtle resting station. My roommate is tagging and tracking Blandings turtles. After the radio transmitter is attached to the turtle's shell with epoxy, they have to keep it overnight so that it can set properly, and then paint over the white epoxy so their dark shells don't have a huge, white spot.

What happens when turtles get nervous or feel threatened? Apart from pulling into their shells, they also excrete. That poor turtle urinated everywhere....almost a week ago. This area has looked like this for more than that period of time. I have to fight the urge to disinfect my slippers every time I walk past.

It doesn't matter how clean I keep the rest of the apartment. To get to the kitchen, one must past through this area. I can't help imagining the sorts of things I'm tracking from a carpeted room that hasn't been cleaned or vacuumed for over a month to the rest of the place. I will spare you pictures of her bathroom. Thankfully, the door is often closed. When it's not, I catch glimpses of McD's food wrappers spilling out of a trash can (In the bathroom? Don't ask.) and buildup of other unmentionable things before I hastily avert my gaze.

It stresses me out, and it disgusts me. There, I've said it. I think it's disgusting. And such is the situation in my home, my sanctuary.