“Next week is going to suck.”
“Why, what’s next week?”
(Funny look)  “Finals.”
(Funny look)  “Already?”
-J. and C.

Working for a university when one is not a student can be a little disorienting.  One’s time frame is completely altered after graduation, no longer do you measure the passage of time by midterms, projects and papers and count yourself fortunate to survive the regular spikes in blood pressure associated with them.  I suppose payday has become my new time standard, but that has overtones of joy rather than panic.  I began working in my office near the beginning of the semester and here it is almost over, where did it get to?!  I used to refer to the time of final exams as Hell Week, but the only discernible difference I can find between this week and any other is that the detectives are less grouchy than usual, having just cracked a rather large and impressive case. 

I herewith re-christen the middle of December as Widow’s Week.  Tink, Wise, Venice, and I are all married to/dating men still in school.  I have little hope of seeing J. return to the land of the living until I’m back from England, which is more than a little depressing.