Just got an anal probe

Did I say "anal probe"? I meant to say "exam." Whoop! Three hours, twenny questions. Twenny essay questions, nine minutes per, me with my little sports watch counting down the minutes and trying not to be distracted by the audible (even through earplugs) gasps of my classmates as we realized in unison that the professor had fibbed about 1) the number of questions on the exam and 2) the amount of time we would be given to complete the exam. I went about one minute over on each question and then scrambled in the last twenty minutes to answer the last three questions. Answers devolved from well-punctuated complete paragraphs to monosyllabic grunting, e.g., "No, no guilt here" and "Yes, lock 'em up, the crook" etc., or something like that. Typing, typing, typing in a frenzy. My classmate [who is not actually in any of my classes, except for that one seminar at the School of Hard Knocks (if I may be permitted to call our Critical Legal Studies reading group that)] Diana sums up the exam experience on her blog nicely, please refer.

Now my hands seem unable to function, but all sorts of things in addition to the incessant typing are causing me carpal tunnel these days. Since this month has driven me a little closer to the not guilty by reason of insanity defense, let me just say that I'm blaming all my woes on a fictitious pixie who lives in an airshaft, speaks in tongues, smells like parsley, steals my hours and distracts me from Contracts. Sort of like the apartment gnome who makes your house keys/cell phone/wallet disappear or the office troll who makes your office supplies evaporate, except my pixie is a whole lot weirder than both.

Double ew tee eff am I saying? Civ Pro upcoming, y'all.