Snippet of typical finals-week conversation:
Person #1: "And then it... duh buh buh buh."You can only power through finals week. It's pretty miserable-- the deadline looms, there's never enough time, and as the hours you can spend in guilt-free sleep dwindle, a haze gradually eclipses your common sense*. You calculate: will the clarity sleep affords be worth the time you won't be working?
Person #2: "Ah. And how is that sleep you've been getting? Plentiful, I trust?"
Person #1: [clearly confused about the concept] "... sleep?"
So you take the mood lifts where you can find them. Right now, for me, it's this:
It may not be a musical masterpiece, but each time it plays, it returns a chunk of my missing perspective, and I am deeply lucky that K puts up with me repeatedly queuing it in Amarok**. So, bit by bit, my last days as a college student slip away. There are worse ways to do this.
*A keen observer might have caught me stroking a small patch of my desk earlier today, looking for my touchpad. My desktop has an ergonomic mouse, not a touchpad. Also, I hate touchpads.
** He developed a fondness for the song while he was playing Saints Row 2: it's an in-game song, and silly things happen when it plays. I won't spoil, but if you don't want to play an over-the-top disturbingly violent game, you can almost certainly Google it.