It's the Final Countdown

Snippet of typical finals-week conversation:

Person #1: "And then it... duh buh buh buh."
Person #2: "Ah.  And how is that sleep you've been getting?  Plentiful, I trust?"
Person #1: [clearly confused about the concept] "... sleep?"

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?

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.