It's crunch time.
The foreboding cloud of black doom hangs perilously on the horizon as before an impending thunderstorm of dismay on a hot and humid August day of deadly hellish heat.
Skies will clear in the afternoon, with gentle winds freshening out of the north, sunny skies, and a 90 percent chance of PAIN.
There's nothing like returning from a relaxing week of tryptophan-induced Thanksgiving slumber to discover the next week will be the single most horrendous of my academic career.
That's a record 17 years in the making.
Not to mention the fact that the Lighting of the Lawn is Thursday, and I have a giant ridiculous snowman costume to make and lots of drinking to do between now and then.
But after that, I'll pop in my Charlie Brown Christmas CD and then pop about forty Adderrall, pack a duffel bag and move into Clemons for however long it takes.
The time between Thanksgiving and Winter Break should be a time of rejoicing, celebration, cheer, family, friends, dancing and wine.
Instead, I'll get a nose-full of "Clemons-Smell" at 4 o'clock in the morning for a week straight.
What IS that smell? And why does it only exist on the first floor of Clemons at the darkest hour of the night?
My answer? It's desperation liquefied, soaking those disgusting cushions over the past 40 years that causes "The Smell."
It's fear.
It's panic.
It's insanity.
But there's good news, too. During this time of year, we can all come together and rejoice in the commonality of desperation and misery.
After all, isn't that what the holidays are really about?
The worst part is when I stumble out of the library at 7:30 in the morning to grab an hour of sleep before class and I see: That Guy.
You know That Guy. He's not only taken out every book on the Metaphysics of Cosmology Applied to Historical Analysis of Fudge that you need for your term paper. He's not only finished and proofread his paper.
He's gone to office hours to discuss it with the professor.
And then:
"Oh A-J, how are you?"
"Grunt."
"How's the paper coming?"
"Belch."
"Well, I'm sure you'll do fine. I just got mine done because I know Professor Papermonger is just so hard on me. You know I only got an A-minus on the midterm."
"Mumble."
"Anyway, well you smell terrible. So, I'll let you go shower. I'm sure you'll be okay in the end."
And you want your mommy, your puppy, a pillow
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