It's finals week. You know what that means?
It means my desk is overridden with dirty dishes and my floor is strewn with essay prompts and outlines.
It means I'm wearing sweats I don't even know are clean.
It means my mind is slowly deteriorating thinking about the daunting task but slowly recovers the more I study and write outlines.
It means the next time my parents see me, I'll be as gittery as a squirrel and as intellectual as Neil Postman.
It means a slow, quiet descent into insanity until Saturday when all hell breaks loose.
It means I got another issue of Popular Science and I can't even read it.
It means Christmas is a little bit closer.
It means I should get back to studying.