I continued studying for my finals today. Oh, those wacky professors with their all too amusing "final" examinations.

Who am I kidding? I hate finals as much as the next guy.

This is one of the most interesting weeks at my university. It is one of the few times during the year when, walking through the university union, you get to see those overstressed, overworked, over-caffeinated folks who, during the rest of the school year, operate as normal college students. Many which you see have nice bags under their eyes, a sign of their obvious insomism.

A random bit of information: college students have some of the highest suicide rates in the nation.

We slave over a book, re-reading a sentence or theorem. Wisdom of the ages flows through us, only to be forgotten a few weeks after the final has ended. Some classes require us merely to fish the concepts from our mental digestive system and spit them back at the teacher.

I am sure teachers have it tough, as well. They are the ones who must go through pape after page of inane, student psychobabble and assign it a grade. In addition, they only have a couple days in which to complete their task.

My finals are Friday. Four days to study and take pictures of my colleagues sleeping in understuffed, uncomfortable chairs. Drool with slip from their mouths and fall in neat puddles on the ground, or cause little wet patches on their shirts.