It's officially Finals Season. I took my first test yesterday, and this morning I woke up crying.
Now, this is not a plea for sympathy. Far from it - during Finals Season, tears are the order du jour, as they say in Frenchish. The Season also comes with it's own brand of snark from me and usually an examination of everything that's WRONG! in my life. Suffice to say, ManCandy is trying hard to simply stay out of my way while simultaneously hovering because he likes to fix things. Poor dear.
Here is what is coming up in the next 10 days:
Papers: 4.66, repeating, numbering roughly 30 in page number.
Plus, everything in my house is filthy (see above, re. WRONG!). The laundry has gone straight into Piled Up, the floors are covered in the detritus of the ongoing Kitty Wars, my bathroom is probably a HazMat zone and I had to clear space on my desk this morning for a cup of life-giving coffee - but I don't really have time to do laundry, vacuum or scrub until the papers are written and the tests are taken. Ugh, ugh, and double ugh. Don't even mention knitting or spinning - Finals Season makes martyrs of us all.
In fact, I shouldn't even be here whining. Hans Holbein has paintings that need to be discussed, and the specter of 12 pages on the experiences of 2 groups of American women in 3 different eras is beginning to haunt my waking nightmares as well as my sleeping ones. And I have 14 minutes before I have to leave for the train.