Final exams are impending and, with that, comes comprehensive, suffocating exhaustion. No longer am I tired or happy,or good when asked, I just am. This sentiment is both very familiar and not at all unique to me. All around, the incontestable signs of impending, permanent, official critique are popping up. Attendance, which dropped last week, is quickly climbing back up. Faces I'm not quite familiar with are appearing in class. The black-circle-under-the-eye plague is spreading unchecked across previously fresh-faced young whatevers-to-be.
Finals bring out the soldier in some, the beggar in others, and nothing at all in a third segment on campus. Some beg, borrow, and plead for a passing grade, suddenly feeling regret for the last 3 months of letting things slide. The library and computer lab are now both full of inconsiderate asses, completely mindless to what could and should be a quiet environment. The population there doubles; the regulars still remain but now they are joined by a new contingent, a platoon of slackers, procrastinators, alcoholics, and others who treat school like it starts and ends in the same month.
Much like the roles we take, the dress code around campus also splits into thirds. Suits and ties and dresses and blouses appear as everyone gets ready for that final group presentation in This Won't Help You Later 110. At the same time, old T-shirts and track suits and pajamas and helter-skelter hair dos also propagate, the product of a complete lack of interest in anything but the task at hand. Appearance, hygiene, laundry, and other typically essential components of society easily take a back seat to your future which, invariably, rides on your receipt of a vowel or a consonant. Some, like myself, didn't care, still don't and won't next semester either. About appearance, of course. My future rests in the letter, just like everyone else.
Still, despite the morose turn the campus takes this time of year, there is a small glimmer of hope in the student body's heavy and bloodshot eyes. With the end of finals comes a respite from the regular regimen. Some of us leave, some of us work, some of us stay and do nothing, but the bells aren't ringing, the tests aren't being passed forward, and the heavy books are on the shelf. Combine all of these together and you have something, however small, to celebrate. I plan to double the amount of hours I'm working, learn how to use a publishing software, spend a while at home half-relaxing, and catch up with my schedule-estranged girlfriend (who's name, unfortunately, escapes me for the time being). I call this celebration.
So good luck to you in whatever you do and Happy December to all.