A few weeks ago one of my favorite things came to an end, and in a few weeks one of my not so favorite things will also come to an end. The first is "Downton Abbey;" the second is this term. I figured to hold on to the last bits of "Downtown," I'd apply some of its philosophies to the hectic finals season that is coming up. Here's hoping I do the Dowager Countess justice!
When you accept that the season of terror is upon you.
So the semester is coming to a close, which means all of your teachers are trying to jam the last 12 chapters into two weeks time. Papers are getting assigned left and right. Here you are, but you already know it's time to face the music; after all you're already bouncing your head.
When you have so much work that your Friday night isn't even free.
With so much to do and so little time to do it, is it really a surprise that you hole yourself away in the library at 8 p.m. on Saturday night? Sure you could be out partying, but if you want any semblance of sanity, you understand that even the weekend is no longer sacred.
When you realize that pulling an all-nighter is the only way you're going to succeed.
Maybe your assignment is taking longer than it should, maybe your teacher just dumped a whole assignment on you last minute, or maybe you've been hardcore procrastinating this whole time. Whatever the reason, here you are. Down some coffee, eat some sugar, and push through. Pain is temporary, education is forever.
When you give up on dressing nicely or dressing much at all.
As the semester comes to a close, you stop finding time to eat or sleep, let alone do laundry or put together an outfit. Slowly but surely, the cute dresses and boots turn into sweatpants and sweatshirts. Sometimes it gets to the point where bras are optional, but at that point who even cares. Forget society's expectations -- you wear what you want and what you think is clean, or at least sort of clean.
When you give up on doing good work and just start writing things down to meet the page requirement.
It's 4 a.m., and you pulled an all-nighter last night, but who even cares anymore? At this point, all sense of reason is gone and you still have two pages of your paper to write. Now's when you just start making things up; it makes sense, so it must be true, right?
When you call your mom, and she gives you a pep talk.
When sleeping becomes optional and time becomes precious, it can be hard to find time to communicate with your parents, but if and when you find the time, the talk always leaves you feeling better. Moms (and Dads) always know just the right thing to say, and during finals week it never hurts to have a stressless person telling you how it is.
When you find a mistake on your exam, and your professor refuses to admit you're right.
Every once and awhile, we all slip up. It can be easy to admit, for some, but for others, they simply can not concede to their mistake. You can try to argue your point, but it really isn't worth the effort at this point in the semester. Your professor holds your future in their hands, best not irritate them too much.
When someone complains about a minor inconvenience.
Sure, I have a 45-minute presentation, 35 pages of writing, and 250 pages of reading to do in the next week, but please tell me again about how your teacher didn't give you a review sheet until the day before or how you only got an hour nap. With limited sleep and a poor diet, no one is feeling especially happy, but complaining doesn't fix anything, and since we are all feeling the pressure, none of us are too keen to hear it either.
When your straight-A friend tells you they get eight hours of sleep every night.
We all have one of those friends. You know, the one who seems to have their lives so organized and their time management so well mastered that they somehow manage to both get a good night's sleep and good grades. If only some of their skills would rub off on you.
When you don't do especially well on an assignment, and your teacher "expected more from you."
As we have already established, there's a lot going on and a lot of stress involved; at this point, good work is just not to be expected. So when your professor starts passing back papers or tests, gives you a look, and lectures you on how you disappointed her, it's hard to even care anymore.
When it's finally all over, and someone asks you how the term went.
Sure you could tell them about the combined five hours of sleep you got the last two weeks. Maybe you could tell them about the mental breakdowns you had on the floor of the library at 3 in the morning. They don't want to hear that, though, so instead you tell them, "Oh, it's been rough, so I'm glad it's over," or, "It was challenging, but I think it was pretty good."
Coincidentally, that last phrase is probably the same way I would describe the last season of "Downton Abbey." The trials and tribulations those characters went through wreaked havoc on my emotional well being, but it was all worth it in the end. I suppose the same can be said for the semester...
