Crisis Response

I knew this was going to be the most difficult part of my job.
And I knew this was going to be the part of the job that would kick my butt.

As an RCA, I'm required to take a certain number of all-campus "primary duty" nights.  Which means I get to carry around a gigantic set of keys, a magical messenger bag, and the Phone of Death.  These duty nights are weekends.  Now anyone who has ever lived on a college campus knows that the most excitement happens on weekend nights.

And every RA knows that if they can't handle something, they need to call Primary.  Which means that the Phone of Death goes off with its evil ringtone that strikes fear into even the most steel-hearted RCAs.  And for Brianna, that means that nerves get frayed, and sleep is lost.  The last time the phone rang it wasn't even a crisis, but I can almost promise that I won't be able to sleep the rest of the night because I'm terrified that that phone's going to go off.

I'm supposed to respond to crises.  And I'm trained to do that.  But when I get into a situation in which I'm supposed to be cool, calm, and collected.  Nope.  Silent.  Frozen.  Panicked.  Which is horrible for the RA that you're responding to because they're looking to you for some comfort and support.  And I can give them that, but I'd much rather give them a hug instead of going in gung ho about an alcohol violation in the residence hall.  I mean, I can do that too, but can we hug first?

So I'm scared.
Really scared.
And tired.
And my head hurts.
And I'm generally miserable, but I'm supposed to be going to brunch with friends in about eight and a half hours.  I'm trying not to think about the homework that I should do tomorrow.  In addition to all my other obligations tomorrow.  Basically I'm doomed.

I'm really tempted to pass out.
And if I could, I would.
But the Phone of Death haunts my waking nightmares.
And it just won't lull me to sleep.