Strange, how I feel so indifferent towards the end of my examination; how there exists beyond this paltry relief not a strand of that cathartic elation which I had imagined would overwhelm me. Could it simply be that I had taken the examination too lightly and in so doing, deprived myself of any form of satisfaction. It seems then that satisfaction is born out of our own selves rather than of the matter at hand. I could write piddling poetry all through the day, and only to the echoes of my thoughts, and yet by an appreciation of my own efforts, still be satisfied.
I would very much like to continue but I am terribly weighed down by the lethargy of having just finished a two-hour long paper. Moreover, I feel listless and uninspired. Life shall have to furnish me with more intrigue.