Slow Down, Babies. The Only Prize at the Finish Line Is a Hearse.

[laguera25]

I dragged myself to class today despite an overwhelming certainty that it would be anything but illuminating. I was right; it wasn't. The professor was so hamstrung by his fear of saying something out of turn that he scarcely said anything at all. What was interesting was watching the freshmen work themselves into a lather over the final paper. One girl was near tears at the prospect, but to be fair, so was the TA, who had been trying for thirty minutes what the professor was looking for. Apparently, she could not grasp the fundamental difference between comparison and contrast. The TA looked like he longed to grasped the nearest splintery pencil and shove it savagely into the tender, quivering viscera of his eyeball.

Papers inevitably sound more onerous than they are, and the tiny, scurrying chicks will learn this sooner or later. My best work has been done at 3am, in the hours before the due date, a Coke in one weaving hand and eyelids held open with spackling putty. Hell, that's part of the thrill, at least until sleep deprivation catches up with you and you start dribbling on yourself in the presence of strangers. I once went to class in my nightgown and socks because I pushed the Snooze button once too often. My professor-whom I adored and took five times-looked me over and said, "You fresh off a bender at Bullwinkle's?" That's college, man, and it's fuckin' great, and I pity the freshmen who never learn to enjoy it.