Ah, Syllabus Week. If you’re a last-semester senior, like me, then you’re thanking your lucky stars that you've made it this far. Your goal of not skipping your first week of classes is going surprisingly well. Your motivation levels are high and your outfits have not yet reached "garbage chic" levels. Regardless of what age you are or grade you're in, I think a majority of us can admit that we go through similar struggles during the first week.


The sun is setting, you've just finished shopping at Walmart/Target/Sam's Club/Anywhere-That-Sells-Kraft-Mac-&-Cheese-In-Bulk, and now you're getting ready to check Blackboard for the first time since last semester. Somehow, you already have 16 assignments that are overdue. So before your anxiety kicks in, you decide to shut that down. You turn on some Netflix and set your alarms for tomorrow. Your first class starts at 10 a.m., so you plan to wake up by 8 a.m. to do your hair/makeup, find a nice outfit, and maybe grab some coffee before class. You'll probably only need that one alarm because, tbh, your sleeping schedule is already pretty fucked from being home all break. You might even wake up before it goes off! New year, new you, right?!


The new "you" can't come to the phone right now because she/he/they are dead. That one alarm did nothing besides give you a panic attack. The sky was somehow still pitch black at that hour, and that basically meant that it was still nighttime. You finally woke up around 9:27 a.m. and somehow managed to brush your teeth, comb your hair and throw on a sweatshirt before checking outside. You see that there are approximately 3 inches of snow/slush on the ground. You want to just say "screw it" and go back to bed. You decide otherwise and get to class 5 minutes late. Your professor is making everyone introduce themselves with two truths and a lie. The game doesn't go well because nobody knows one another. You knew you should have stayed in bed.


Same shit, different day; but at least you're more motivated now that you've successfully completed one day. Your friends add you to a group chat titled "Happy Hour?!". Within the next 38 minutes, you receive approximately 97 notifications from said group chat. You contemplate setting your phone on fire.


Ah, the halfway point. By now, you've gotten the hang of your schedule, you've put a hex on the teachers who decided to use the entire class period during the first days of class, and you're only two days away from happy hour. Your first discussion board is due later today and you have to, yet again, introduce yourself to the class and comment on three other students' fun facts. You want to respond to Gary from Minnesota's "fun fact" about how he "only ate ramen noodles for his entire freshman year" with a "same, bitch," but instead choose a polite response in its place. 42 hours until happy hour.


There's a pep in your step and a twinkle in your eye; your week is almost done. You've figured out during which classes you can secretly scroll through Twitter and which classes you can openly scroll through Twitter. Beta Tater Tots is throwing a "Back-To-School" party later that night. Your friends who have meal swipes offer to buy you a round of nuggets from Chick-fil-A. You accept that offer and discuss your weekly struggles vaguely. You have to save the juicy stories for happy hour. Less than 24 hours now.


Your schedule has worked out for the third semester in a row, and you don't have any classes scheduled for Friday. You put your phone on silent and sleep in until 11:15 a.m. You decide to order a pizza for lunch; you've earned it. You live less than two miles from the closest pizza place yet it still takes them over an hour to deliver the pie. It's fine, though. Nothing can sour your mood because happy hour starts in a few hours.

You wait patiently for your favorite bar to tweet out the exact same "happy hour specials" that they've tweeted out every Friday for the past 16 weeks. You tell your friends you're "being good" this semester and are only going for the dino nuggets and maybe a beer. It's now 8:16 p.m. and you're hammered. One of your friends suggests that the group should bar hop and let loose after a "suuuuper stressful" week. The friend who suggested this skipped five out of the seven classes she had that week. Things are great and you dance the night away knowing that next week won't be as easy. But until then...