12/12/14 – 1:57AM
I’m awake at all hours
Which makes sense since it’s finals week I guess
Except instead of being locked in the library, loaded up on Adderall, coffee, and half hearted motivation
I’m lying in bed
Writing, thinking, meditating
At peace with myself and satisfyingly sleepy, after a long productive day
I’m doing it “wrong”
I should but pulling an all-nighter to snatch up every last point I can get and calculating my GPA and crying or complaining or something
I’m a broke, exhausted, college kid and it’s finals week but
We only glorify this illusion of productivity
What is any of it really for?
Everyone can cram, stress, cheat, and drug their minds for those A’s
And they will be in the “right”
They will get those jobs and goals and salaries and awards
They will accomplish everything they think they want
But I will write this silly little piece, fall asleep thinking up a few amazingly far-fetched ideas about my future, rest for more than the 8 hours I need
And I will have accomplished as much
I passed out while studying last night and slept through my alarm this morning. I missed breakfast, got my period, and dragged myself through rain and traffic to that one class I CAN’T miss. I had to park in the far lot and trudge 20 minutes up the mountain that is URI, while rain fell relentlessly from the dark gray sky. The air was a pale heavy blanket stitched together with patches of the work, responsibilities, and obligations that made up this certain Tuesday, and I couldn’t get out from under it if I tried. It would be even harder than getting out from under my bed this morning and now there was no snooze button around. I made it to class with only a minute to spare, looking like a drowned rat, or raccoon rather, with the rain and heaviness dripping from every inch of me and the tiny bit of makeup I managed to smear on morphing into black circles under my eyes. I wiped them away but should have kept them as an exaggerated artistic statement of how mentally exhausting this all is. I didn’t have time to consider artistic statements then though, because I was thrown immediately into an uncomfortable, damp, lecture on fatty acids, that sounded how I imagine drowning would feel.
I could have sworn I was holding my breath until I got out of there and out of my next class and into the library. I finally sat down and took a deep breath and one-minute-ranted to a friend and didn’t feel all dark and heavy anymore. The pale blanket of responsibilities and all the rain didn’t dare budge, but I felt lighter and could peak out from under the edge of it all and see what awaits on the other side.
I smiled and realized that even if I fail this exam, all my midterms, college as a whole, it wouldn’t really change anything. One exam doesn’t mean I’ll never laugh again, that coffee will cease to exist, or that I’ll actually drown and stop breathing or ever stop writing about it all. So I came home and made a cup of coffee and wrote this even though I “should” be studying. Midterms matter but they definitely don’t matter the most. That out of the blue message from a friend, your favorite song on repeat, being filled with coffee, and finding peace and happiness and something to smile about on the dreariest of days all matter so much more.