After a few minutes, roommate 1 asked me what the heck I was doing because it was just getting my shirt all wet with gross drywall water. I agreed and went to grab the towels. As we sat there, watching our landlord poke a hole through the ceiling as easily as sticking your finger in a pie, I thought about my instinctive reaction. An unstoppable force is pulling something undesired into my direct path, and all I can do is put my hands out, palms up, and believe that it's going to have an effect. I have to stop it, I can do it, get out of the way while I put my rubber-stopper hands up to half a dozen holes and watch them miraculously dry up all the water. What happens in the end? Water keeps flowing, holes keep growing, ceiling is softening, and my shirt is wet and smelly.
I'm not sure where my poetic analogy is going. I think if this issue was at rest in my life/personality type, I would have a flourishing conclusion about "going with the flow" instead of stopping it. Instead, all I can think about is money, school, and life, in that order. Three holes, two hands, and a sporadic sleeping schedule. Unfortunately, I think the way it works is that the drywall is going to keep getting waterlogged until the ceiling bows to it's apex of a monstrous crack right above my arms covering my head, and right at that moment, maybe I'll wise up and finally start depending on the one person that can really stop holes in my life.
Until then, I'm going to invest in a poncho. Wish me luck.