The pain is simply excruciating. I stand up, I sit down, I lie down and still it hangs over me. Or drags at me like a lead weight around my neck. I can't take this. I want it all to just be over. Finished. Done.
I can't continue to leaf through my endless pages of notes. It's just too much. Too tiring. And every morning I have to wake up and see the sun, feel the breeze and open my text books. And it just kills me because soon none of this is going to matter.
This time next week, I'll never need to know how estuaries or spits are formed; I won't need to know the birthrate of Brazil or how China implemented its one child policy. I won't need to know how transpiration takes place in plant cells or how to temporarily cure someone with Cystic Fibrosis.
And if I do retain that information, well then that's just great, but at least I won't be spending time and energy trying to cram my brain with information.
I won't get fits of frustration, seeing information slip away like water in my hands.
It kills me because freedom is so near and yet so far away.
Even though I am freaked out by the exams, they can almost not come soon enough.
I can already anticipate the release of pressure. I can smell the smoke, feel the heat and taste the freedom. My books are already returned. My stack of notes are already burning. Some of their ashes already being blown away. Far, far away.

Burn my dears. Just burn.
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