Finals are like onions. They make me cry.
Also, studying has not been going well. And, by that I mean, I have not studied at all. Oopsie poopsie.
Things I have done instead of study:
- Scrubbed away the grody layer of crud covering the my bathtub
- Did my laundry, a task usually done once a month
- Stretched. My leg muscles feel like they are going to slide off my body.
- Yelled at a cat
During this time of year, school becomes a race to the finish. Or a limp. Or a disoriented crawl.
Yeah, so, finals are stressful and I do not want to talk about it anymore. I came to college to have a good time, and finals just make me insecure.
But, you know what’s crazy? I am almost halfway done with school.
When I began this year, I had no idea what I aimed to do with my life. Now that I am halfway done, I still don’t.
Based on mainstream media, college is about overflowing house parties with half naked model-esque people, overwhelmingly hard classes that require weeks of all nighters and more parties.
It’s a totally glamorized and glorified image. Even after attending real life parties — which can be fun — I doubt those will end up being my favorite memories from this year.
I will remember how, up to this point in my college career, I have indulged enough Krazy Karl’s pizza to feed a small colony. That, my friends, is the essence of America.
I will also remember how I used demon voices to reenact the last part of “Titanic” in class:
“Jack! Jack, come back!”
(The goal here is to sound as much like “The Exorcist” as possible. Grown up I am not.)
After quoting “Titanic,” comes the acting like cats.
My roommate brought her vomiting cat up to live with us. She is the sweetest, most-loving cat, who sometimes acts possessed with her satanic meows and morning pukes.
Finals stress also inevitably results in watching Beyonce music videos at 3 a.m. because my roommate, the cat and I are too exhausted to get off the couch.
Sidenote: Beyonce at the Met Gala, though. Holy fuego, as our generation likes to say now.
I also always end up dancing around my apartment by myself because all of my friends have boyfriends, and they leave me sometimes. I dance alone until I am tired enough to eat 10 cookies and go to bed. This happens frequently enough that I felt obliged to put it in this column.
Whatever. I have fun.
One my favorite feelings in the world is the sensation that follows happy how-did-I-get-here moments. I came in with so many plans and ideas about what college would be for me, and I was completely wrong. I am grateful my plans do not work out. What the hell do I know, anyway?
It is terrifying to not know what I am doing. I feel like I am constantly taking an essay test. My life is an essay test. I am completely winging it, but doing my best to exude confidence.
But, like an essay test, I think my method is working.
Day one: Making it up as I go.
Day [now]: Same. And I like where I am.
So, I guess the take away here is that we need to stay weird and honest, and it will all work out. At least, that’s what I am banking on.
I would also like to take this moment to thank people for reading my column, and to thank my editor for basically letting me write whatever I want. I am glad I’m not the only one who thinks I’m funny, because I am hilarious. Glad I could share my talent with you all. Blessed be.
Collegian A&E Columnist Cassie Maack can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or on Twitter @maackcl.