These are the endless days of pure stress and procrastination. These are the days of complaining endlessly and restlessly reading Buzzfeed and trying valiantly to navigate Blackboard to find that practice midterm. We boast about how little we sleep and call our parents surreptitiously as we walk back to our dorms just so we can have someone validate our intelligence. In short, these are the days of midterms. These are the days of anxiety. I went to the museum the other day for some perspective. Instead, I found Munch. There is no better aid for melodramatic mooning; no better companion for wallowing in self-pity. So if you want to see prints that are the stuff of nightmares, if you want to see anxiety described as a “loud, unending scream piercing nature,” the museum has you covered. I promise you’ll either find a companion in angst or you’ll experience a voyeuristic pleasure akin to reading a melodramatic teen’s diary. At the very least, you’ll get to see prints of sperm hanging in a museum setting. Also, what other artist inspired an emoji? Time to pay tribute.
