There are moments where I absolutely hate the thought of waking up and going to school. Sometimes, I stare at my ceiling for minutes, praying for another two hours of sleep to magically appear on my phone’s digital clock.
As a college student, I am always running out of time.
There is never enough time to go home for the weekend, to see everyone, to have a night out with friends, to grab a quick lunch and study for four mid-terms.
I think a huge character flaw of mine is time-management. Once I start on something, I’m entranced.
I don’t think it helps that I rather do literally anything else other than studying.
College isn’t like high school.
And no, it isn’t the way your teachers said.
No one writes in cursive because everything is digitally turned in, formatted in double-spaced, Times New Roman 12.
And yes, professors do offer the kindness of an extension, sometimes.
It helps when you cry, even better if you dry heave between sobs.
And, good God, when did exams matter so much?
My favorite part about a class is acing everything but the exams. And then, after a semester of sweat, blood and tears, my transcript is a forever home for a smug little B.
I love the fact that I am lucky enough to intend higher ed, but it really kicks me in the ass sometimes.