187th post

I just got out of my Tuesday's final a few minutes ago.

"No, no, no, Adrianne, you silly girl. You mean you just got out of your MONDAY'S final," is what you're probably saying right now.

No. I am still going to firmly stand by my statement and say that this final that was SUPPOSED to be on Tuesday, was rudely forced on to me a day earlier.

As everyone will recall, this is not the first time something like this has happened. In fact, I'm getting to be a sort of pro at screwing up finals dates in my mind. I think the problem is that in between the teacher saying "fi" and then "nal," my brain goes into self-destruct mode and an explosion strong enough to level Tokyo erupts in my brain, making it impossible for me to remember anything 10 seconds after the word "final." The ten seconds in which I'm assuming the date and time of the final is always announced.

This time, though, at 1:30 PM, after a leisurely lunch, I languidly return Benno's call to chat about, you know, this and that, why the sky is blue, what he thinks about Michelle Wie qualifying for the U.S. Open, when he mentions he'll see me at the final in an hour and a half.

At approximately 1:31 PM, I called Diana Hubbard to confirm this information. At 1:31:32, I received an answer in the affirmative. From 1:31:33 to 2:01:14, such a large string of obscenities in different languages issued forth from my mouth that I'm sure my guardian angel just gave up and flew off. The people in the dining hall only narrowly missed me throwing my leftover chicken ceasar salad on to them, and they have no idea how much I wanted to pour the scalding hot coffee down everyone's shirts.

So that's the story of my written final of the week. Now I'm going to finish my Spanish paper, which is due tomorrow at 4 PM. How do I know it's ACTUALLY due at 4 PM? Because I say so. Damnit.