Wehehehelllll now, finals week and I have finally come to blows. Like I mentioned before, I only have that one final in Psych on Friday, so the past couple days have been rather relaxed: on both Monday and Tuesday I didn’t get out of bed until noon, I spent most of the day shopping ( I didn’t buy anything Dad!) on the internet, and I was able to watch the entire first season of HBO’s hit new series Girls (guys can watch it, it’s really good). But, I must finally come to terms with the work I’ve been avoiding, put on my big boy pants, and shave my sorry excuse for a mustache so that manwork can be done.
As more and more people are finishing their finals, they’re getting the hell outta this place: only the few, the proud, and the stuck remain. The decrease in people has a correlation to the decrease in stink; I’m proud to report that the rest of the week’s forecast calls for a severe body odor warning tomorrow morning, but that’s expected to clear up by about three pm. The bathrooms are unusually desolate, which is good news if you’re planning on showering, seeing as how there will be considerably less competition for the only shower with good water pressure and temperature. Also, feel free to pee in the shower, I’ve been informed that urine’s acidity could help destroy whatever is clogging our drainage, the sterility may also kill the germs and fungi on the bathroom floor. In other words, the Dale remains dirty.
This has been an interesting week so far, for most of the day’s schedule is in our hands. Ideally, I should properly space out study sessions from sun up to sun down, but like communism, my ideals have proven to be a failure. So, here I am, blogging away after spending the day reading about the Hoosiers basketball hopes and wondering if Tom Crean will run for president. It’s only a matter of time before the federal government disbands the hoosier regime after we monopolize winning national championships in the coming years. I am lucky to be able to stay up studying past my normal bedtime, not having to worry about silly 9 am classes. I like to call myself the Night Crawler: I am more productive at night, I complete work at the pace it takes an infant to crawl about the house, and my self-invented dance move the noodle was inspired by watching worms wiggle about on the concrete during rainstorms.
Maybe the professors are not a collective group of evil witches. Maybe the cauldron I imagined them cackling around was actually filled with pancake batter. Maybe they’re overcome with the Christmas spirit and wish to share joyous breakfast with all their students.
Whatever the reason, Dean Oprisko has sent out an email informing us that from 11:00 pm to 12:15 am, the Wabash faculty will be serving us breakfast–and it was sent with HIGH IMPORTANCE, meaning I had better take a break from studying to attend. I’m curious to see if Santa will notice this last ditch effort, and grant my teachers presence on the nice list. With all the assignments, tests, and wisdom they’ve given us, these better be some damn good pancakes if they’re expecting anything but coal come Christmas morning. But, really they’re good people, I’m just a whiner.