Dear Finals Week,
Two words. Finals week. The words that make my spine tingle with agony. You make me want to cry, but why? I know what to expect to an extent at this point, right? You come into my life twice a year, so evidently I know what I’m getting myself into each semester. The answer is no! I nor anyone ever knows what to expect come finals week. You’re like one giant mystery, which will either make you or break you. It’s not just the week of finals, it’s the weeks leading up to finals. Those weeks may be even more crucial than actual finals week in my opinion.
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There will never be love between us. I will forever resent you every semester.
You bring me too many tears and lots of second guessing as to why I need a college degree. Because when you come into my life, you definitely make me question dropping out, and joining the circus. Is that what you want to hear? Do you want to hear that with my many late nights filled with caffeine also comes tired, handwritten flashcards that are written up in my delusional 3 a.m. state of mind? Do you enjoy hearing students complain about being in the library all night, starving because they don’t have three minutes to whip together Raymond Noodles otherwise their focus will be broken? You can’t say this brings much shock into your life. You know exactly what you’re doing before you even come into my life! It’s quite rude if you want my two sense on the matter. I would think you’d cut me a break. After all, we’ve spent a total of eight semesters, eighty-nine months, and one-hundred and twenty weeks of unforgettable moments. Of course out of all this time we only really acknowledge one another for about three weeks. But I know you’re always lingering around in the beginning of the semester, taunting us students as a new semester starts. You sit back and watch us learn all this new material, just waiting to crush our lives come finals week. You’re not fooling anyone!
You have a sick twisted mind of its own, that’s for sure!
I truly try to find some love for you in my heart. After all, you do determine what I get in these classes. But I just can’t find love for something who causes so much pain. You’re like a guy one may date who is in their life for a couple of weeks to then disappear for a while to then resurface. That is exactly what you do, semester to semester. You’re filled with drama and hatred. The only opportunity I can possibly have love for you is when I get my grades back, and managed to pull out a B or if I’m lucky, an A. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. If I get an A it’s not because of you, it’s because somewhere down this line of brutal studying, I cared about my future. A semester’s work is fit into a three hour, blue book test. I guess I can’t fire all my hatred towards you. I guess the professors do have some blame towards them too. After all, they could be those rare, pleasant professors who don’t hand out a cumulative final.
So as I tidy up the rest of this semester, and prepare to take on some of my last finals, after all, this complaining of the stress you put me through time, and time again, I do want to thank you. But please, do not let this get to your head and boost your ego. The ‘thank you’ is more for myself. Thank you for testing my limits, because if it wasn’t for you those almost perfect scores, blistering worn out hands, and my exhausted mind wouldn’t be rewarded. You put me way past my breaking point, but when I finally do see the light at the end of the tunnel I am reminded every semester that I have survived another battle. I have made it out alive, and it only makes me stronger. It’s almost like a game of “Mario Kart.” You try to make it around the course a few times without slipping on a banana peel. Now, all that’s left to do is wait for those final grades to be posted, and only hope for the best. Until next semester, please have an awful break off from torturing college students, myself included!
You won’t be missed over the summer.
Sincerely,
A very shattered, starving college student.
