Syllabus week has finally come to an end; a sad, sad, depressing end. And it's time to actually do work and get it together, which is proving to be a lot harder than most of us initially thought. Not only are we kicking ourselves, we're also internally weeping, ready to drop every class and curl up into the fetal position. Oh yes, we are a mess of emotions. Throughout this whole process, a few realizations are starting to dawn on us:

Oh no, I actually have to do homework.

Wait, I have to work. Period.

I have to read how many pages tonight?

I don't know what's going on.

Should I buy the textbooks for this class, or can I just wing it for the whole semester?

I wish weekends were three days long.

Please, tell me I don't have a test on this.

What is happening?

What was I thinking when I originally signed up for this class?

Send help.

I need more time to figure this out.

Did I throw the syllabus away?

There's no way I can write that many papers in a week.

You want me to do what for every class?

Are temper tantrums still acceptable?

Where are the add/drop forms?

So. Much. Work.

Does anyone wanna do this reading for me? For the rest of the semester?

Can I just have an A for showing up?

I think I need a hug.

While we internally panic and have a slight mental breakdown, we know that we will eventually get through this—one homework assignment at a time. But in the meantime, temper tantrums and shoving your face with pizza and Doritos are highly encouraged.