Well, I asked for something to do...ask and you shall receive. Sitting at my computer, awaiting the third consecutive night of sleep with a final to care about the next day, I finally have a moment for myself. Or do I? My mind is still riddled with the three Abstract Algebra proofs I ran through multiple times, thinking about what I'll have to do tomorrow morning to prepare for the final. And then only Physics will separate me from summer, perhaps the most daunting of my finals. But first, I must progress through this wave of three finals in three days. Which is probably not as bad as other people have it, but I also get the general sense that people have finished long before I even started. This is what I signed up for as a math major, however...
The exciting part about the moment I finish this final tomorrow is that I'll have about 40 hours until my Physics final, which means some relaxation, perhaps some piano-playing, some quad lay...but most importantly, the end-of-a-Stonehill-year blog post. I already know what I want to write about, and have some ideas in my head. Nothing in print, though. I can already feel it becoming a part of me, this third-annual, final blog post. And as the beginning of The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place rings throughout my headphones, I have to fight the urge to do all of this right now. But I digress.
These past few days have been devoted mainly to caring about schoolwork, studying, and finals themselves. Which, I acknowledge, is absolutely expected during finals week, but it will be nice to experience the feelings of the end-of-the-Stonehill-year post. I'm actually very excited to have all of the positive energy running around, and can feel some of it now. (Editor's Note: And look at the excitement in the writing!) (Editor's Note: I mean, it kind of is a calming, positive energy. Some semblance of complacency with the universe, where everything feels okay in this little pocket of time. It's something that I don't get to experience as often as I'd like, so I actually am looking forward to this. Screw you, editor.)
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