Time to start saving for my pension perhaps?

I have turned into a 35-year old. I don't know how it happened or when, but last night I saw proof of it.

It all began with a phone call. 10 pm on a Wednesday night and it was fancy dress night down at the student pub. They asked me where I was and I repied something along the lines of "Well, it's late and I'm tired and Im already in bed, and I've got this movie and..."
- as if that was not enough:
The neighbours were having a house party, that was quite clear. And not only were they having a house party - they were playing bad loud music (think terrible 3rd class reggaeton) at 12 am! So I called security on them
- I have turned into a 35-year old.

Brain does not compute. I am a diagnosed stressoholic.

It seems my brain has joined the rest of the world and hit recession. Perhaps last week topped off with the weekend made it hand in its resignation. Cannot read. Cannot write. Cannot understand. I can barely read about the Spanish Civil War in Swedish!

Most of this stress comes from my lecturers (whom I really really do admire most days, don't get me wrong here) who keeps telling us first years that we, pardon mon francais, suck.
We have not achieved this goal, we have not understood this theory, our work has major flaws (this most always at some point include how maaaaaarvellous the second years were last year compared to us).
What particularly stresses me to the point where I just want to get into foetal position and rock back and forth whilst mumbling "Medway has 55 councillors, Beaverbrooke, Northcliffe and Rothermere, newspaper circulation in 1939 10.6 million, don't forget the f-blends, don't forget the f-blends, Beaverbrooke, Northcliffe and Rothermere " is this: They are grumbling at all of us and I don't know whether I am included in the loser bunch or not.
Obviously (yes it is as clear as day to me) they can't speak to us individually and I do agree that we all need a kick in the butt from day to day to get some motivation but:

All I seem to hear is how bad I am.

How I am never up to scratch.

And whether I actually am or if it is just a minority of my class is not important.

I am still a target.

I can't say I made a million working as a cocktail waitress but at least my boss told me I had done a good job when I worked my ass off whether my tips was £60 or £6.

(my best friends are moving to South Africa tomorrow and I don't even have time to go and see them off at Heathrow. I am a bit fragile at the moment)