Tied up and twisted, the way I'd like to be.

My English final is in an hour and a half and right now I'm particularly bitter at the utter uselessness of first year classes. I'm dreading coming back here in the fall. But I don't know if that's just because I'm currently under a great deal of academic stress or because I keep forgetting that I only have to do freshman year once. I don't know if it matters which, if it matters at all. I don't have time to think about this right now, but I can't think about anything else because what does it matter if I don't want to come back. I don't have time for this. I don't have time for wet sleeves and a runny nose. I don't have time. Symbolism in petrarchan sonnets awaits.
Oh, fuck.