I am done.
No more papers to write.
No more finals.
No more classes.
No more stressing.
No more Self Storage (and that I am actually sad about but now the anticipation just gets to build up)
I have been stress eating and therefore hating myself. I swear I'm done, now that I've rewarded my survival of torture by downing a 16 oz peanutbutter moo'd from Jamba. mmmmm calories. The guy who made it also had a monroe piercing. = we are instantaneously best friends. But now seriously, back to eating good things.
Dear Mr. Script Supervisor,
Take it easy. I think you're cool so no worries. Enjoyed our conversation today. I will put in a good word with the Big Man about the job. Good luck with your crap and have fun waking up and the butt crack of dawn the graduate.
Days till production: who cares
Remaining finals: none
Remaining papers: nothin
Remaining grad parties: oooooooh boiiiii
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