It's coming up on finals week.

You've got 15 credit hours worth of classes that you're trying to pump out the last bit of extra credit for. You're tired because you go to bed at 2:17 a.m. and wake up at 7:49 a.m., only minutes before your first class. You throw on joggers and the nearest shirt you can find that doesn't make you look anything less than a solid six, and you bust out the dorm by 7:54 a.m. You swing open the front door of your hall's lobby and step outside to face the day... and it's raining. "No time for a jacket," you say to yourself as you pretend to jog to your first class. Fast-forward to 3:19 p.m.; you step back into your dorm, still a little wet from the tears of the sky. Shoes kicked off, backpack slumped to the floor, wet shirt thrown back to the same crumpled position it was in this morning. You look through your closet for a shirt that makes you look like the eight you are, and you finally sit back in your almost-comfortable futon. You have your last class of the day in 101 minutes, and you think to yourself "Nap? Read a book? What to do...?"

Then you see it.

The French press your grandpa gave you last Christmas. You begin to contemplate "I could just go over to Starbucks..." but the glass container and mesh filter beckons you. You get up, and walk towards it; pick it up, examine it. The smart phone in your pocket comes up and Google is summoned, requesting information on how to operate this piece of European machinery. Your eye grow wide. This is what you've been waiting for. You throw on your loafers and drive to that Starbucks, but not for your usual iced Caramel Latte. You pick up a bag of that French Roast ground coffee, you swipe that Gold Member rewards card, and you drive back to school. You start that water on the boil, you dump those grounds in that glass jar, and you wait. The bubbles begin to form, you rip open that bag and dump those grounds in (roughly 4-5 tablespoons though, let's not get crazy). You slowly dump that water in until it fills about two inches from the top, give it a smooth stir, set your phone timer for 4 minutes, and you wait...

As it brews, your excitement dies off and the drug that is adrenaline settles.

A couple of deep breaths and a glance around the room is all it takes to notice part two. The turntable you keep around just to maintain hipster status. You've never actually used it, you don't know how. But what would pair better with this handmade cup of coffee than the sound of a needle on vinyl? You stand up to examine it. "How hard could it be?" you ask yourself. You have a couple records, but you've never needed them for anything more than decoration for your other tight-pants-and-flannel-wearing friends. Maybe it's time, though. You pick up the one with the most colorful album artwork. "Struggle Pretty," a record from Penny and Sparrow. It was a gift from a friend of yours after they saw them live and thought you would like it—since you have a record player and all. You remove the cardstock and plastic sleeves, set it on the turntable, gently pinch the needle, and pick it up. The record starts to spin, and you realize you have no idea what you're doing.

But isn't that the fun part?

You drop the needle on the outer rim of the record, and there's a slight hiss. Startled, you reach over to pick it back up, fearing you've just broken something. As your fingers get closer to the needle, you hear the faint sounds of strings coming from the speakers next to the record player. As the orchestral noises grow louder, you decide that you think this is right. *beezbeezbeezbeez* The timer is going off. You walk back over the desk where your coffee has just finished brewing, and you press down slowly. You grasp the handle upon reaching the bottom of the press, lift it up, and pour the smooth, brown liquid into your plain, white mug. It smells delectable, and as you sit back down on your couch-bed, you hear the words "Why'd you up and run away..." pouring out of your speakers. As you take that first sip, your lips tighten and your tongue shivers. It's honestly not that good, bitter and black. But you made it, and you're proud of it. The record rolls on, until the needle pops and Side A is complete. You get up, flip it over, and repeat your actions from earlier.

"Oh, don't be so stoic..."

Side B is on, your coffee mug is half-empty (or half-full?), and you have found a new favorite band. Each sip seems to grow sweeter, as each song seem to get even better than the last. As you finish off the hearty, dark-red nectar, the album plays out it's final breathe: "I guess this is just what it takes..." It's 4:47 p.m., enough time to put your shoes back on, grab your backpack and head out the door. As you're walking to your class, getting wetter with every step, you find yourself smiling. Everyone around you is running to their dorms, hiding under their backpacks in hopes of being just a little less rained-on, droopy faces from the study sessions they've been cramming for finals week.

Finals week? Oh, goodness. You were so lost in your records and coffee, that for about an hour-and-a-half, you forgot the things that bog you down. Everyone is dying inside all around you, and you're happy. You've rarely been better. There's a new tune stuck in your head, a new taste in your mouth (puns absolutely intended), and a new sway in your step. You stride in to class proud, confident and happy. Your notebook is a little wet when you pull it out, but it doesn't bother you. You rip out those damp pieces of wood fiber and you use a fresh one. Nothing is getting you down right now. Tomorrow, the world will try even harder to make you feel like you felt a couple hours ago. But with the help of your two new friends...

...It will fail.