A Virtual Primal Scream

At Columbia (and probably lots of other places), on one of the nights of finals, there is a set time where students let out a primal scream. In the absence of frightening my roommate by doing that, consider this my virtual primal scream:

So, it's 12:45 a.m. ITunes (yes, the I should be capitalized; I know it's ugly) is on shuffle and is spitting out a mix of Glee, Disney, Jewish music, and Rent, which I'm sure is not an accurate reflection of my music collection. I have been snacking ridiculously (candy cane Joe-Joes!) and procrastinating in every way possible. My room is a total disaster. My part of the group paper I'm working on is probably less than half done. I'm not tired so much as uninterested in writing. I want a real donut, not the kosher-bakery variety. I am crazy excited about going to the East Coast (green meal and used books and the Newseum and people who will play Trivial Pursuit with me!) but am not entirely sure how all the work is going to get done before I leave. (This is pretty typical finals fare, I realize.)

And I have a rant about ridiculous financial expenditures (not my own) boiling up inside me, which shall remain unwritten for now—both for propriety and time concerns. I'll leave you with this:

In Gilmore Girls, when Paris and the gang drive into Stars Hollow to work on a group project and they pull up in a fancy car, Lorelai says something to the effect of: "Wow. She must have baby-sat an awful lot to afford a car like that."