Today is Irish lit exam day, where I try and pretend that ODing on angst can represent vertical character growth instead of warping the way I prehend until I want to beat everyone with a big snake. Oh dear, I don't think that was funny at all. I'll have to remember I'm not clever today. Desperately earnest is what my poor Irish lit prof likes best anyways. He's so one of those guys who married someone just a bit too good for him in his early twenties, and as she gradually found herself wanting to stab him in her sleep, she decided to leave him, and now she spends his life alone, nursing his wounds, and reflecting on a love that was just too good for this world. See, it makes you more insightful than anyone else, and thus you'll have a god-given right to condescend to undergrads until you die.

After my exam, tea with Mom and Chen and a walk on the beach, because today is beautiful (far too beautiful to really take any exam that seriously).