Recently, I have been dying slowly inside. I’ve lost control over my basic bodily functions; the ability to socialize, the ability to stand, the ability to recognize the sun as anything other than a glare on my computer screen. You see, as of yesterday, it was midterm week and life is only now beginning to resemble something to be cherished and not a horrible, horrible thing that should be cursed at in the wee hours of the morning. I wrote about midterms last year as one of my first posts. Since then, so much has changed. I no longer sleep with three dozen stuffed animals (only seventeen!), I’ve had to change my role models (I guess Jerry Sandusky and Kim Jong Il just weren’t “in” anymore), and I was asked to teach Barack Obama how to have swag. However, the one thing that stuck around are midterms. No, despite the prayers of millions of suffering children around the world, God/Buddha/Brad Pitt decided to piss everyone off and give us exams again. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a problem with having to take the tests. There’s nothing I like more than having to sit for three hours in a steaming hot room listening to viruses slowly spread while I’m trying to decipher what exactly de Broglie’s theory on the electron is and how after this test, it will have zero importance in my life whatsoever. No, the tests are fine. I hate studying.
You know those war veterans, like the guys that saw all their friends machine-gunned on D-Day or the Vietnam soldier who lost all his fingers and his nose during a friendly napalm attack? Yeah, them. Anyway, they all do interviews being like: “Oh, I don’t believe in God after what I saw on those blood stained beaches,” or “Sorry, but I’m not afraid of hell because my experiences in Khe Sanh were far worse than anything hell could throw at me.” Well, that’s how I feel about studying. I mean, I think that veterans are incredible and I totally value their sacrifices and on no level do I consider myself their equals. But… I mean, sort of, right?
Like, I understand that it must have sucked being shot, but do you realize how annoying making my history study sheet was? I spent like, a whole day on that. And sure, I bet being targeted by the Viet Cong was like the worst way to spend a Sunday, after studying 366 math problems for your exam, of course.
Look, what I’m trying to say is that studying for exams is horrible. You feel stressed, your legs cramp up, you eat compulsively, it’s the worst way to spend a week. Let’s just put it this way:
I’m not afraid of finals because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that those goddamned overpaid, irresponsible, kid-hating teachers could put on the test that I didn’t have to face during midterm week. Nothing at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go examine all of the benefits the G.I. bill gives me and use none of them.