DESPAIR.
My Corporate Finance final has been moved up and I can't go to Coachella and I sold my 2-day pass at a $40 loss because I deserve to pay $40 for deserting Depeche Mode and Madonna and She Wants Revenge and Seu Jorge whom I will likely never ever be able to see together in one festival again and I just want to crawl into a hole, a musicless, dark hole, and suffer there. But instead I will be in a flourescent-lit hole all weekend studying finance, which I am absolutely certain is what happens in the 18th level of hell.
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