I don't like having finals late in the day. You wake up knowing that you have to be there at 3:30 p.m. and you have to build the rest of your day around that. You know your day's ruined, because you know that no matter what you do, that political science final is looming not that far off. And then 3:30 comes.

That final was hard. There have only been two other times in my life that I've gotten a test and wasn't able to answer the questions. (The first was the first test in AP Physics last year, and the second was the AP Calc exam; I failed that physics test, but got a 5 on the calc test.) The test was all essay, so it was difficult to guess. But I had to do something. So I wracked my brain for any relevant information. Nothing. I ended up writing down BS hoping to get some sympathy points by saying, hey, I know most of the material, just not what this question is looking for.

I finished that final early. Sure, I could have stayed and tried to think of the correct responses, but what's the point. I got out by 5 and went back to my dorm to pack—I was leaving for home in a half hour.

I'm home now, sitting in my family room watching Tila. (Seriously—who doesn't watch this show?) I've already eaten everything the fridge has to offer, and my stuff's still in the car. I really hope I didn't forget anything; I always have that feeling that I forgot something. But I'm home—for a month. No homework to do, nothing to think about—I brought some books to read. I gotta get back to Tila; she deserves my undivided attention.