Finals-induced ranting

My apartment is a giant mess. There are clothes everywhere, dishes on every available surface, remnants of pizza boxes, diet coke cans, and laundry that has been in the bin since Katrina. Yes, since Katrina, 10 months ago. I realize this is disgusting, but dammit, my dryer’s broken and I’m trying. Besides, every time that I go to the Laundromat, which is 100 degrees due to the lack of ventilation, I get attacked by little kids whose mothers don’t seem to care that their children are attempting to sit on the lap of a complete stranger who’s just trying to do her reading in peace. Normally, this utter mess would bother me in some way, since I’m practically obsessive compulsive in my neatness, but finals start tomorrow and my abject terror has rendered me unable to do anything but stare disconsolately at my books and try to keep my brain from jumping out of my head and drowning itself in the Mississippi. Really, who thought that it was a good idea to base an entire semester’s grade on one exam? Or better yet, on one question, as my corporate law professor has done? It’s like some kind of weird hazing ritual. I was never in a sorority, as they weren’t really a big deal at my school, but I’m starting to think that being made to drink until I pass out or smear a mixture of mayo and Vaseline in my hair (as one of my good friends had to do) might be a nice change.