So, funny story, the other day I realized that I was actually here for school. I know, I know, I had to sit down when I it occurred to me. It was crazy and totally progressive—very Berkeley of me, right?

After all the hoopla of moving in and after the numerous fist pumps whenever the time passed 1 AM and I was still out (those high school curfews are killer, brah), one word and one word alone was able to harsh my mellow, to stump my groove, to swash my suave, and whatever else those kids are saying these days. The culprit of such frowned upon acts is none other than that jerk named “Midterms.” What’s up with that guy? Someone’s ice cream must have fallen out of their cone or balloon escaped into the sky in order for them to feel the need to ruin college students’ lives for a few weeks. Seriously.

This is my first college midterm season and I’ve started to understand and become aware of the culture of this time period.

First signifier that midterms are looming over my head is my recent appallingly disgusting eating habits. The other night, I wolfed down a whole Chipotle burrito, walked across the street and got a Nutella-filled crepe and ate that too all within about… Sorry, my roommate just offered me chocolate. I obliged, obviously. Anyways, my friends have been able to tell how close my next midterm is by how high my ice cream cone is that day at the cafeteria—the bigger, the closer. I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten my tuition’s worth just from that machine.

Ironically enough, just as sugar looks extra tasty and tempting, so does that gym membership look useful and enticing. A gym, as I have recently been told, is a place you go to simply exercise for an extended period of time—in case you were wondering, because I was. So, naturally, I go hit up those 80 pound dumbbells and reassure numerous people that I am not indeed David Beckham when they approach me, and then I grab that Yogurtland on my way back to the dorm.

Another symptom of these dark, dark times is my uncanny ability to be entertained by literally anything. Even the smallest things are far more interesting than that paper that needs to be written and certainly more inviting than that chemistry textbook. I’ve never realized how fun scaring people on my hall could be, how exciting it is to change my bedsheets after—um—a long time, and how similar watering my bamboo plant is to riding Space Mountain at Disneyland. A hobby that particular comes in handy when I need a distraction is indulging in Kanye West’s best tweets of all time—of ALL time: “Fur pillows are actually hard to sleep on.” Hm, who would have thought? Thanks, Yeezy.

But, all of this contributes to what makes college college. And I couldn’t be enjoying myself any more. We’ll get through this. Okay, for reals, I need to go study now. Deuces.

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