Cold, Lost, Scared, but not Alone

Finals week. Cliche of the century.

Wow, that's rather epic. The whole century has nothing on finals week. . . therefor I too must write about it.

Finals week is something akin (I would imagine) to crawling inside a very small, tightly packed igloo. Not the big awesome kind real Eskimos make, with chimney's and firepits. . .no. The kind you make as a kid that's just a bunch of ice packed together, threatening to fall on you and retaining no warmth whatsoever. Upon crawling into this igloo, you realize you have no room to move, turn around, or even sleep. Also, you've left all your victuals about a mile back, you've forgotten your own name, you don't remember ever having friends, and (just before depression and madness sets in) a heavy iron gate falls and closes behind you, locking you there for a full five days. Have fun kids.

You think that's all, you think it's the pit, the bottom of the bottom. . . but no. It's then that the igloo expands, just big enough to allow a huge black dragon to appear. One who demands knowledge out of you, demands to know random bits of information that have never proven useful before and will never prove useful ever again. What's this?! You beat your fists into the ground. This simply isn't right! No ones ever taught you anything about the significance of the cranial capacity of homo erectus versus homo sapien, or the occipital bun of ancient beings! No one said what in the world Ologesailie is! How can the dragon demand this of you? But demand it he does, with thick stench rolling up his throat, over his hot tongue, between his slime-dripping teeth and straight into your panicked face. What to do, what to do?!

Lay down and cry. That's about all you got now.

See you on the other side beauties,

Yours Truly