Done

I feel bad for all of you who are coming here because you googled that WeffRiddle poem. Just look a few posts down, you'll see what you're looking for AND a hint, so merry Christmas to you all, or happy whateveryoucelebrate.



I'm officially done with finals as of thirty seconds ago. I thought I'd feel more elated to be DONE, but, truthfully, I don't like being done. Not being done gives me something to do, something to work for, and I can't help but feel how slightly empty my life is without a paper to write. It's the only way I'm a productive, contributing member of society (because selling lottery tickets to people who can't afford them is, I'm sorry, not a contribution to society - my apologies to everyone who has made that their career).

I'm always a little tacken aback at all the people who come in and know me, and know that someday I want to be a defense attorney. They always have something to say about it, and even the ones who hate lawyers are good enough to respect me, and to wish me the best. They don't want law school to break me, to turn me into something cynical and hard and unworthy. Because right now, this sweet little blonde thing who's chatting with them about her latest ideas on God and life and how we really know anything, well, she should stay that way for a really really long time. Maybe forever.

Maybe she will.