Oh finals week, oh finals week. Why do you have to hate me?
From group projects, to 20-page papers to — oh wait, the actual exam. It's more like finals month.
You’ve caused me to essentially emulate a bear in hibernation. Gluing myself to either my desk chair in my room, or a different, less comfortable one in the library. Only to get up to use the bathroom. And considering all the food I need is right by my side, I stop using hunger as an excuse to take a “quick” break to watch Netflix while I eat dinner. Or lunch, or hey, maybe even breakfast because I’m working ALL hours of the day.
Even in the shower I’m mentally going over flashcard terms and trying to work out that one weird sentence in my essay that needs some tweaking. Sleep? Well yes, that’s hard to do too when the stress of tomorrow is haunting you. Knowing that when I go to sleep, I’ll wake up one day closer to my due date.
I'm always wondering if I did the absolute most work I could that day. “Should I stay up another hour?” I say no, but then end up tossing and turning because the mental dialog had me up for an extra hour anyway. What a waste of time. Could’ve been writing.
I consider sleeping with a book under my pillow because, at this point, I’ll take any help I can get. I’m just going to pretend that actually works.
Let's not even talk about my social life, or lack there of. Cramming to get everything done during the week simply because I refuse to miss the last few weekends in the semester. Since everything doesn’t get too poppin’ until like 10:00, that gives me basically the entire day to get the little things together that I may have forgotten. What a way to live!
You have ruined me, finals.
You should really tell the people administering them to stop. To this day, I will not understand professors who talk about how much they don’t like to grade, so to save themselves the pain, they go “easy” on us by making the test only all short answer. Or the paper only 10 pages double-spaced. Thank you for the courtesy? No. just don’t give me a test or a paper. Or a test after a paper. Or a project due before the paper. Or an oral presentation on the content of our paper before the paper is due? Literally what’s the point? Tell me please.
You suck, finals. And I hope you know that us students hate you. I try to escape you in every way I can, but apparently even my dance courses have finals. Dance. You have officially infiltrated the arts. Congratulations.
But underneath of all the bad — the hurt, the tears, the mental break downs, calls to mom hyperventilating — when you come around, that means it’s almost either Christmas or summer. So the good thing about you? It's when you're over.
‘Tis the season.
