I’m growing resplendently restless this semester. I feel like I’m wasting my time. I don’t want to take Spanish. I don’t want to take a history class that equates to a less than an adequate review of what I learned in AP US History in High School. I don’t want to take what is essentially an advertising class from a doctoral holding, collegiate professor who is unable to even form a defense for his self serving position on classical sophistry to me, while I am armed solely with my 12th grade, single-semester, public school philosophy class. I am absolutely working myself into the ground, wearing myself out, and the only solace I seem to be able to find is in the hope that once this semester works its way to a grinding end, that it’ll be over. Provided, of course, my gloriously uninspired, unmotivated, however somehow completed, class work carries me through. That end gets closer with every dragging day, with every high school reminiscent “reading quiz” and “worksheet.”