When the connection with your professor is real...

Or so you thought.

But then they announce what will be covered on the final.

And the reality of your life hits.

Your friend tells you they have an A in the class already.

Any student positivity must be crushed immediately.

In reality, any amount of positivity eats away at what still remains of your soul.

And you seek comfort in false affirmations.

But your true friends are always there to shit on your wallowing self.

When you arise from the pool of sorrows that is Dead Week and all you can find hope in is a dolphin.

But in your head, you've already made the conscious decision to live the care-free life.

Because explaining your soul-crushed existence to outsiders is a waste of time and energy.

You strut into finals like...

I haven't cried for a record breaking 10 minutes or slept for a solid 72 hours. No, I'm not dead. Yet.

...Only to realize that you have no idea what you're doing.

And you must employ those cringe-worthy bullshitting skills.

Although, you still try to stay positive.

But really, you've already accepted your fate as a failure.

It's death or death. No question about it.

When the school asks if you'll be registering for classes next semester.