I hate finals. In particular, I hate not going to class, then feeling bad about not going, then not feeling bad enough to make me want to go, and then doing all my assignments for said class in the last 2 weeks. Also, I hate computer science *professors* who teach us about dot-matrix printers and LCD displays on your brandy-new TI-82. And I reallllly fucking hate the same teacher telling me, an English major, that I don't structure my business letters correctly and that my mail merge didn't work.
On the upside, I do love seeing people I graduated with. I saw Katy Bradley in the supermarket the other day, and mah-oh-mah she got fat. Speaking of which, I'd be willing to bet that Super Paul won't organize a damn thing outside of an ultimate frisbee game on his front lawn and we're all going to get letters from Big Jen about our 5th, and there's going to be a list of unfound people, including, but not limited to, Graig Judge, Kevin Brushett, Sarah Rothermel, Jeff Manfredonia and Jamie Arcand, for you old timers like me.
At any rate, I have to get back to my british poetry paper, which I have titled "Do It Yourself Eunuch." Not really, but I'll bet that would be a damn good paper.