Over the next two weeks, I don’t know what will kill me first: finals stress or the mountain of classwork. I went into Thanksgiving break optimistic — like a Californian that believes they’re prepared for their first real winter. I thought a break was all I needed to get motivated again, to get back into the swing of things. And now that I’m back, I’ve realized what a horrible mistake I made in believing such lies.
It’s a desperate struggle trying to readjust. Back home, my room was clean, cool, and roommate-free. Here, I find myself drowning in a sea of my own disorganization. I’ve stared at the piles of clutter several times already in an attempt to muster up any semblance of motivation to clean. The Swiffer stares back at me, unused and unhappy, against the wall.
I have been awake since 5:30 a.m. for my morning flight; I fear the coffee has mixed with my blood in unhealthy proportions. There is no time for napping as I remember the work I neglected over break. The work gets done. Barely.
Yes, the Christmas season has officially begun. I had thought nothing could seem more exciting than Thanksgiving, but I was wrong. How can I manage four classes today when I have to order Secret Santa gifts?
My professors are especially merciless today. In the final two weeks of classes, I have been assigned an inordinate amount of final essays and projects. I have taken to writing my own will as a reasonable means of procrastinating. In addition to these measures, I pray to the Tufts Gods that my group project partners will come through for me.
It is my second day back, and I am already sick of dining hall food again. I find myself longing for the chicken parmesan my parents made for me over the weekend. I long for turkey, mashed potatoes, and all other things home-cooked. I look at my plate at Carm with sadness and contempt.
Another early morning class to get me back into my normal routine. What’s the point of routine anyway? It’s all set in place to prevent me from sleeping until 1. I began my work at 4:15 p.m. today. I am slowly becoming more accustomed to this “daytime” style of life again. If I am able to get back to my early-November schedule comfortably before the semester is over, I can be proud of myself and die happy.
Each day, I lose more and more motivation. And each day, I feel the stress more and more painfully as deadlines approach. I am in an unwinnable game against time and inevitability. My roommate has promised to take care of our plant should I be unable to go on.
I slept in until 10:00 a.m. today. I can feel the strength returning to my body. My tongue is re-accustomed to the dining halls and my body is ready to start accepting junk food as healthy meals again. My calendar appears dim for my final week, but I have powered through these last days, and I have come to terms with all of the work that must get done. Against all odds, I have become used to the Tufts lifestyle yet again.