Well, finished, at least. Grades are turned in, and everything that needed to get read got read (and please don’t ask me to be more specific about that). And just in the nick of time, as I’m now madly doing a last load of laundry and packing to leave at what R. refers to as oh-dark-thirty tomorrow morning. But however half-assedly, and however harriedly, it’s done, and that’s good.
Though it has not come, I fear, without some damage to the old mental faculties. Case in point: On Sunday, when my mad burst of cleaning led to four loads of laundry being washed and dried, everything got folded and put away, except for the fourth load, a load of towels, which remained in the dryer until just a few minutes ago. But apparently I’d begun folding it and given up after the first item Sunday night, a event I have no memory of, but only the evidential traces left behind. Because just now, as I stood in front of the dryer, pulling out those towels and folding them one at a time, the third towel I pulled out emerged from the dryer fully and perfectly folded. And I stood there open-mouthed for a full fifteen seconds, staring at the dryer and thinking how did it do that?
And that, dear Internet, is the end of the semester, in a nutshell.