Hiiiiiiiiii

So, guess what?

I AM WORKING ON MY LAST FINAL EVER.

That's right, I'm almost done.

The operative word, of course, being almost.

People: It's killing me. I don't know if I'm going to make it. I'm so close, I can taste it. I can see it! I can almost (there it is again, that word) ... touch it. But it's not there yet.

I went to a barbecue last night with a bunch of my schoolmates -- all done with their classes. I had to take the stupid class with the stupid last final and now I'm stuck here, staring at my laptop and the Internet is boring because it's Sunday and my boyfriend went home for the weekend and my roommates are out and there's a freaking Gilmore Girls marathon on, fer Christmas's sake, that's trying to wear me down over here.

So, I have a rough draft, but it's not done yet. It needs work, is what I'm saying. And it's not due until Friday but man, do I want it off my plate so I can fret about packing up my room and becoming a nomad and looking for a job and a whole host of other things that are going to occupy my attention this summer. But first: the final.

I'm in a Mexican standoff and it's not looking too good for me.

Wish me luck.

My Wolverine Action Figure just looked alarmed as I typed the words, "packing up my room" -- boxes make him nervous, he's always afraid I'm going to lose him. Which I won't, gah.