That time of year

It's come again. The time when the two speeding trains of uni and holidays collide to form the wreckage of exams. How many casualties will result from this union, no one knows. What is certain is the increasing reclusiveness of he who is known as Wayland (that is, me). His skin will grow pale with lack of exposure to sunlight. His nails will become long and yellow from forgetting the virtues of personal care. His currently organised mess of a room will evolve into a garbage disposal site.

My eyesight will probably also deteriorate by a grade or two in that time. Ah, the wonders of exams.