I have to wonder, why did I start up this journal again right near the end of the term? This was, perhaps, not a wise choice. I have two and a half weeks left of class. Of the five assignments that I've been working on, I've finished one. Deadlines are breathing down my neck. I just looked at the calendar to see how many days I have left and literally gasped. Oh, don't get me wrong, I can't wait until this semester is over. It's not that I don't enjoy my classes, but I'm pretty much done. Can't do that anymore. Take it away.
And oh, how lovely, how wonderful it will be to get out of this place. Never, never again will I live with first-year boys. Never, never again will I have to associate with these selfish, rude, obnoxious people. The freedom!
And won't it be lovely to be able to write again?
But now I'm still dealing with classes and readings and essays and assignments, and I have to be at class in 45 minutes, and my hair is wet and dripping down my back, and I have not eaten breakfast. Time to get going.
