A grave mental disease!

That's what Plato called love, "a grave mental disease."

And this guy gets a kind of love named after him? How does that work? (One of the cool kinds, too, if you ask me...)

Here are some more descriptions of love:

"Love makes intellectual pretzels of us all."--Sarah Bird

"He matters to me like my shoelaces. Always there, always wrapped between the holes. Everything falls apart when he's gone. I can't walk. I trip and fall and lick the ground."--Zoe Trope, from "Please Don't Kill the Freshmen," from the book Al gave me for Christmas

Spongebob and stuff

Which Spongebob character?
brought to you by Quizilla
I realize I haven't said anything constructive in my journal recently. It's been a busy week. Finals. Blah. You know.

I hate finals first of all becuase just before them everyone starts getting stressed and nervous and busy studying. I get bored; I rarely study; the atmosphere is so oppressive.

Then there are finals themselves, the moments of sheer terror that break up the boredom. Pain and mental exhaustion may break up the monotony, but that's about all that I can say for them.

Tuesday I did one of those horrible, stupid things that college kids fear but no one ever really does: I missed a final because I messed up the times and thought my world politics final was later than it was. My professor is letting me make it up; I have to do that in half an hour.

Then I'm going home. I may get to see my friends, and I'll definitely see enough of my family; I'm only going home for a week.