Blah blah midterms suck, blah blah the Kenyon Krud blah blah you have no dignity left blah. Right about now, shit is getting real. Like the realest of reals. Everybody knows it, and nobody has the time to sympathize. Maybe you got a temporary reprieve from the struggle this weekend while you instagrandma-ed it up with your family all over campus. Maybe you didn’t. If I had, I’d probably be writing about how your family looks like a weird version of you, or about how your brother is a whole lot more attractive than you are. But I’m trying to be less bitter, and your brother still doesn’t go here. So instead, I’m writing about what makes this part of the semester a bona-fide struggle:
1. Life would be easier if we were fuzzy wuzzy. Trust me, not in an emotional way. Stop trying to hug me. I mean in a dogs and horses and groundhogs and other things have fur coats and I’m jealous kind of way. Consulting the Weather Channel is like reading a damn horoscope. How am I supposed to choose clothing? Highs in the upper 50s and lows in the upper 30s. Hey Weather Channel, stop trying to predict my midterm grade. Abundant sunshine. Oh ok, I see, NOW YOU’RE MOCKING ME.
2. DayQuil + Caffeine = Cocaine. Hehe hehe hoo hoo hoo. I know, I’ll just write about CATS on my midterm! CATS! It’s brilliant! CAAAATTTTSSS
3. Emails. If I ever hear voices, it will undoubtedly be the CDO taunting me about Teach for America or something. Annaliese, come see us, Annaliese apply for a job shadow or we’ll shadow you, Annaliese…And then when I finally kick the bucket, I don’t anticipate seeing any sort of blinding light. However, I fully expect to see one of the registrar ladies standing over my cold, dead body saying, You should have checked your schedule, Annaliese. You should have checked your schedule…
4. Oh my god, the future. What am I doing this summer? Where am I going to grad school? Will I get a job? Holy shit, that’s 8 years of my life. What if I fail the math section of the GRE? Wait, who am I? Who has time to think about this stuff? Where is the nearest bathroom? Why is that person waving at me? Am I dreaming? Fucking NyQuil.
5. Laundry. There has never been a struggle more real and enduring than personal hygiene–and laundry takes the cake. It inevitably requires venturing into weird, windowless basements that smell like somebody accidentally tossed grandma into one of the machines. LOL, that was just a stinkbug. What to do? Get in the nude mood man and run with it. Act like it’s part of your comps. Or something.