Just one more week, and this semester will be over, and I will be in a coffee shop somewhere in Portland, not thinking about history. It hasn't even really been all that busy of a semester, just. Busywork, I suppose. Too much reading, and every week went by so fast that I found myself struggling to get everything done by the Friday deadline. Each week I say I'll work ahead, and each week I still wait until the last minute.

I just want to bring my F up to a C. That's all I really care about.

Yesterday I bombed a Shakespeare exam. Had absolutely nothing to say about Hamlet, probably because I didn't even really read the play. I'm failing to read Romeo and Juliet this time, too, because I keep thinking I'll manage by just skimming. But that doesn't really work with Shakespeare. Apparently.

So I bombed it. Maybe. I'm guessing a C or D. The last exam was an A, and there's one more exam left, so I still have hope. But I'm still definitely carrying an F in my other class, and I might need to pull an all-nighter based on the fact that one of the quizzes is based on a long-ish documentary.

Why the fuck did I decide to pay thousands of dollars to kill myself and then forget all the information? I had a better work ethic before college, if that's what I'm supposed to be getting out of this. College killed my work ethic. And made me depressed. (Well, other things did, including genetics, but I like blaming everything on the university. And my ex.)

So. Yes. I should just finish this crap and go to bed ASAP.

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