Work Hard, Play Hard.

The office is empty. I'm the only one here. I have no assigned projects at this time.
Singing along with Ol' Blue Eyes (Frank).
Checking my emails. Surfin' the 'net.
Life isn't so bad, I think.

Then I remember, school. Why am I at U of T? Why do the professors enjoy punishing us?
Finals are fast around the corner and I have my work cut out for me.

So, as I go over my macro econ. lecture notes I am thinking: Perhaps, getting paid (not much) for "working" (aka. being an office fixture while "studying") - isn't such a bad thing. After all, it could be worse. I could still be in retail. Sorry, Indigo!

Aside:
When the prof is writing all those numbers and letters down, does anyone follow the calculations? -- I find that I cannot even scrawl her formulas and deductions down fast enough, let alone process the information in the meantime. Perhaps, I should have gone to York instead. Haha... death first! Sorry, York. I'm kidding, I'm not really sorry. That's right, I went there. Mwa ha ha!