Because that is what I do when I have better things to do. It's a strange, uncanny part of my nature, to be sure, but no finals week (or in this case, month) is really complete without at least two nervous breakdowns in which I convince myself that I'm going to fail out of school, fail to get a job, and end up living in a cardboard box in Orlando and envying the bum on the corner who got to the refrigerator carton first. Then I do everything in my power to persuade all of my closest friends and family that this will, in fact, happen, and that they have to send me their leftover Christmas fruitcakes until someone gets fed up enough to smack me across the face (metaphorically, of course) and tell me that I'm an insane person and if I don't calm down I really will fail out of school, so I finally do calm down and resort to studying my brains out.
How's that for a run-on sentence!?
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