Homeward Bound

Isn't it funny that all the bustle, all the stress and strain of a semester is wiped out with one word? The blissful promise of "Finals." When it's first muttered under a pile of textbooks a few weeks before the actual end of the semester, it gets quickly stifled by other students who suddenly become jumpy and twitch a little more than usual. Usually when it is whispered it's whispered in fear. A great and binding fear. But suddenly that fear evaporates like your breath on the chilly wind that last day of class. And you can think about it, 'last - day - of - class.' Two more exams and you're free; one more... No more exams. Then what?
I can tell you what. There's a party in every room on every floor on the whole campus. People you've never met are wishing you a Merry Christmas, and are wishing you a fond farewell as if they've known you all your life and can't live without you. I guess they forget how short a three week break really is. But that doesn't matter right now. If you ask that girl, who last week was in tears over her exams and an essay, this was in fact the best semester of her whole life! Or the guy who decided that studying was important after all and so has stayed up for the past three nights thanks to the convenient and constant supply of Red Bull. He will inevitably come to the conclusion that studying isn't so hard, and next semester (which he invariably can't wait for) will be infinitely better than the one just ended.
In effect we're washed of our scholarly sins in one day. All the late papers, skipped classes and nasty cafeteria food melt away into that blissful sentence, "I'm going home later."
Now if you'll excuse me I should pack. I'm going home later.