Last exam is over and done with. Weeping commences.

I wrote my last exam tonight. Linguistics. I like philology. And etymology. Just so you know.

So now what do I do with myself? Should I go for a masters degree or just make my millions in thirty-thousand years working at a fast-food chain with a shitty poli sci B.A. to my name? I am sick of the academic b.s and the stresses of 18-page reports on the non-existent future of Canada's military, but in another sick way I miss it already. I don't miss paying for it. I don't miss writing exams and debating fluffity fluff. I don't miss taking [re:missing by five minutes] the york region transit. I miss the people and the books and I miss watching really bright people getting excited about ideas. That sounds so lame, and it is, but this is my united states of whatever. [Thanks Liam Lynch.] But I can still read and see through people without paying hefty tuition fees, so that is what I'll do. That was easy.

I like this book I'm reading, 'The Act of Creation' by Arthur Koestler. I'm also reading some William James and more Goethe, that sexy beast. I seriously think that the generations are progressively regressing. ;p Devolution, baby. It's not nostalgia, it's that the past simply WAS better, damnit. In key ways. Ways in which I am too dumb to articulate. See? My point.

A lot of crap thrown under the heading of 'postmodernism' makes me laugh. I was so tempted to send this Postmodernism Disrobed article to my humanities professor. But I didn't and I will go and cry perpendicular tears of emotional excrement on my pillow after drowning past regrets in tea and cigarettes.

Steven Wright pisses me off.

I love the people I know. I take them all for granted. I am the ice queen. The stone angel. Stone angel sounds better.