Metaphor

As I was standing behind the desk at work gazing absent-mindedly (aka staring down super creepily) at the patrons (that's the fancy name we employees call them) walking through the library, contemplating the gloom and destruction known as finals that lay before me, I came up with the perfect metaphor. It's almost an allegory really. I should give some credit here to Amber, my lovely coworker, who, after being subjected to my metaphoric musings, suggested I write a blog about it (as far as I can figure, this could be for one of two reasons: a. she noticed I haven't posted on here for a month, or b. (and maybe more likely) she thought there was a good possibility that I would stop talking and sink back into thought with this suggestion). So here it is in all its glory (or not):

I was canyoneering several years back with my dad and sister, and we came upon a swim about halfway through the canyon. We stopped for a moment, as one does before any obstacle, and I stood at the brink of the dark abyss of water before me feeling masses of dread and anxiety weigh heavily on my body. This was the. last. thing. I wanted to do. Seriously, the last. It was freezing. The water was stop-your-breath-lump-in-throat cold and there was no sunshine reaching this cranny of the canyon. The canyon was narrow and winding, making the length of the swim impossible to determine--no end in sight. The water's depth was impossible to tell and my feet wouldn't touch bottom. The water was dark and rotten-smelling with a thick film of dust and slime on the surface. And possibly the best part, there was a dead rabbit floating about ten feet into the swim. A dead, unavoidable rabbit. Dead for long enough to be half decayed but still recently enough to be disturbingly recognizable as a close relative to Thumper. As I stared at the cold, narrow, winding doom that lay before me, the inevitability of it started to sink in. I realized that there was absolutely no way I could avoid this. I couldn't turn around; it's not like you can climb back up 60 foot rappels. Even as I realized this my body reeled back in obstinacy. I didn't want to do it. I really, really didn't want to. I remember the feeling of absolute dread as I realized I HAD to do it, that there was no alternative. Needless to say, I did it, I survived, and I accidentally kicked some stinky dead rabbit water in Angelica's face.

This, that I have just described, is what finals are like. They are there, they are unavoidable, they appear to be never ending. Even though every fiber of my being is searching for a way out, I know there is none. They are a necessary evil and I cannot get around them. I honestly cannot see the end of the next two weeks, it does not exist in my psyche. I have to overcome the all too natural resistance and force my body forward. And I might even get some dead rabbit water kicked in my face. So it goes.