And, here we are again. It is crunch time, stress time, dive headfirst into a pool of suspended reality time, embrace your unrealistic expectations time. Yes, finals are here, and when you're taking a 22 hour class load, and have come down with a serious bout of senioritis, they weigh heavily upon you. Or at least that's what I hear.
Today was my listening exam in the fabulousness they call History of Jazz. We must have wasted at least 25 minutes waiting for the 800 or so people in the Hemmle Recital Hall to actually get up and move to the front so that we could have an empty seat between us all. And when I say that we wasted 25 minutes waiting for this to happen, what I mean is that 25 minutes went by with our instructor yelling that single instruction out, over and over, and having basically no one move at all. Eventually she gave up and started the test half an hour late, but I'd like it to be known that I, along with my colleague Jordan, moved all the way up to the fourth row. Just to be cooperative. Something should have been done to acknowledge such a sacrifice on our parts. A girl behind us noted aloud that all the students in the first five rows apparently were the only ones to either comprehend the instructions or to follow them, and therefore should be duly compensated with an automatic A. However, our professor apparently had her hands full with the difficult task of stating the question numbers, in order, from 1-50, and therefore did not pay much mind to this brave girl's suggestion. I think we had three different #37's. I hope I got one of them right.
I think the real high point of the test was when our instructor played a little rift on an instrument, interrupted herself midnote to say "Don't talk. Keep your eyes on your own paper." and then continued on as if nothing had happened.
In other news, I have come to the realization that I have more than 5,000 words to write on three different topics in the next four days. It's much like trying to organize the world's messiest room. You have to pull everything out and take full inventory of what you've got, and what you're gonna do with it before any real organization can take place. In other words, things get a whole lot worse before they ever start looking better. And that, my friends, is the fine place I've found myself in. So, from today until Wednesday at 5pm, I'll be writing. Maybe at Daybreak. Maybe at Barnes and Noble. Maybe at J&B. Maybe at the library. Maybe even at my own humble abode. Anywhere I am, though, there will only be one of two things taking place. Panicking, or writing. I'd like to think that I do a good job of alternating between the two, and giving them as equal playing time as possible. Really, it's only fair.
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