My eyes feel like ashtrays.

That make any sense? I'll bet it doesn't. Was up 'till 3 last night finishing this damnable synthesis project, but glory be, we did it.

Shoulda seen my first hour humanities class (the class the project was due in.) Like zombies, only less cheerful.

I'm going to nap my ass off this afternoon. Then I'll wake up, well-rested but assless, and ready to party. Or be in a play. You know, whateva.

You can feel it in the air and vibrating through everyone's collective unconcious, summer's coming. Blogs make it even worse, because half of the ones I read are authored by college folk and so that makes it seem like everyone in the universe is chanting in unison, if only fucking finals were over.

Finals don't faze me, ours aren't 'till next week. It's this week, this week whose name should be wreathed in flame and have that fart smell of sulfur. This week ass-loaded with a huge Humanities projects and an improv show and a play and a play I'm supposed to write and an awards ceremony, filled with dramatic tension between things I've been putting off and am loath to even start and things I really do want to do but there are just so damn many of them.

But of course, come summer when I'll probably be putting in eight hour bagging days, I'd probably capital-K Kill for a week like this.

Oh, and I have something closely resembling strep throat but not quite, that makes it painful to swallow and renders my voice a gravelly sack of fun. In the surfer parlance that naturally accompanies my new hair: Bonus!

Also I got bitched out for missing my performance date for a Shakespearean monologue in Drama, even though as the seventh hour bell was ringing I was in a doctor's office a few blocks away, lying on my side on that paper they put down, waiting for Dr. Kerr to show herself, thinking, "I'm going to miss my performance and get bitched out." How prophetic I was this morning. Also very ill.

Prom was fun this weekend. God, was Prom fun. Pictures to follow.