I feel like I shouldn't be writing this. Like I should be elsewhere, tediously flipping through those piles (more like bricks) of flashcards. Like I should be racking my mind to the point of full-fledged mental breakdowns on the couch, which has basically been my life for the past two weeks.
And it's finally over.
On summer's watch, only a few seconds have passed, yet I've had to remind myself at least twenty times that whatever I happen to be doing, is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing - a good manifesto for this carefree season. I'm stoked to live out summer's clichés (says the girl scrawling out these words spread out on a blanket under the apple tree), and more stoked for our weird traditions that are only revived in the span of these two months and some days.
Basically, being done is just a really good feeling.