"New Jersey."

"Oh? What exit? Ha,ha,ha,ha."

How could life get any worse?

WELL, aside from the year-long debacle called Ec 10, it didn't get any worse. My roomies turned out to be good friends, and I've lived with three of the original four for all four years here. There were some good classes, I found an enjoyable extra--curricular activity, and made a few friends.

Harvard won me over--me, the student who threw a fit when the first--year rooming group had the pretentiousness and gall to hang a Harvard banner in the common room.

The conquest was sealed a few weeks ago when I surrendered my hatred in my final, most shameful act. I gave $25 to the Class Gift. My roommates are still making fun of me for this wanton display of cheerleader spirit.

So what is the lesson? Should we learn from this story that, as Milton said, "The mind is its own place, and in itself/Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven?" Should I realize that one's attitude determines how much one enjoys life?

Nah. Uncle Milty was off the mark. The trick, I think, involves an expectation game. When spirits have sunk to an all-time low, they can only rise.

As I look towards September 1991, I see myself unemployed and living at home, with no real desire to enter any vocational field, and the mood is very reminiscent of September 1987. I don't think the immediate future could look much worse.

Which means, of course, only one thing: It can only get better.

Daniel E. Mufson '91 lives off Exit 131.