Wake Me Up When the Semester Ends

We’re a few weeks into the semester, so it’s time to fling myself into the sun. That would probably be less painful than continuing with classes, drama, and the pathetic excuse for a year that 2016 has been in general. It’s time to grab my Sun Trampoline™ from the closet and just go for it. It’d probably be really warm too after I passed the vacuum of space, so I wouldn’t need to deal with the impending Boston winter either. I am shivering while writing this; I need some warmth. Please bear with me. It’s kind of like that famous song lyric, “Wake me up when semester ends” or whatever it is.

Okay, so the semester isn’t actually going terribly. I mean, yeah it feels like I’m failing seven classes when I’m only actually taking five and not actually failing. I’m sure that every semester feels like it’s really hit the ground running, but this may be the most stressed I’ve ever been! Honestly, if I had a plant to cry to, I would, but my roommate and I somehow managed to kill our cactus child, Artemis, last year. No, the only people I have left to comfort me are people that will just remind me of the dozens of other responsibilities I’ve forgotten about.

Decision-making-wise, my sophomore year of college has become a cruel mixture of the stress of junior year of high school and the tough choices of senior year. I wish I could just pause everything – classes, the 2016 presidential election, extracurriculars – and take a breather.

If there is a bright side, it’s that, because I can’t actually fling myself into the sun, I have to deal with everything and learn how to be a better adult. Am I having cookies for dinner some nights? Yes. But I’m also taking charge of speaking to landlords to figure out housing for the following year. So I think it evens out.


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