From the bottom of my heart, I wish to extend my sympathy towards all you poor souls stuck deep within the trenches of finals week back at my alma mater, Whitman College. While I might (at times) envy your rich environment of intellectual engagement, your beautifully manicured campus, your easy access to the gym and dining halls -- in short your status as current students -- I have no desire to go through another finals week, nor would I wish such living hell on my worst enemies. There is no doubt in my mind that my eight semesters worth of finals weeks took a collective total of at least eight years off my life, far more than all my drugs and alcohol, saturated fat, and exposure to pesticides combined. Staying awake for two straight weeks, surviving on a diet of vending machine snacks and redbull, and sitting in front of a computer screen for upwards of sixteen hours per day is profoundly wrong. An utter abomination. A flagrant disregard for all that is natural and good. Finals week is the cursed offspring of the unholy union between deadlines, school, and stimulants. And it is evil.
Good luck Whitties, and may god have mercy on your sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed, over-caffeinated souls.
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