8:00 p.m.: You’re getting ready; you’re pumped, you deserve this. You’ve had a long week, you’ve spent countless hours in the SciLi… So what if you blackout and wake up at 2 p.m tomorrow? The memories you don’t remember will be totally worth it.
9:00 p.m.: You start texting your friends, trying to figure out who’s up for the 24-hour rager you’re envisioning. “Sorry, I’m studying for exams next week :/” and “I don’t know… I’m pretty busy with work.” F@ck. After texting eight other people, you reach out to your freshman-year roommate that you talk to occasionally. They’re down.
10:00 p.m.: You find yourself at a dorm party. It seems like it might be a birthday, but you don’t know the host. Somehow, it was much more glorious when you were envisioning it a few hours ago. Kind of cramped and hot, when you think about it. At least the lecture hall had ventilation, you find yourself thinking. Wait. Why the f#ck are you comparing this party to your exam?
11:00 p.m.: After a few drinks and a new location, you’re finally starting to have a good time. The white-girl-decor swirls together. Kind of looks like a bunch of hexagons. Hexagons. Where have you seen those before… A chill runs down your spine. You start thinking about the cyclical carbon chains on your organic chemistry midterm. Snap out of it, you think to yourself. It’s over, you don’t have to worry anymore. You’re enjoying rum-and-coke out of a red solo cup, you’re the epitome of relaxation. But… is it over? Did the professor schedule another midterm within the last two days? Maybe you should just check Canvas to make sure. You barely resist. Your thumb twitches
12:00 p.m.: You notice the cute girl from section standing to the side. Intoxicated, you decide to shoot your shot. You walk up to her, ready to deliver your smoothest one liner. “What… how did you think the exam went?” you hear yourself slur. F#ck! Can you relate to people on any level besides academic?! Why did you think that would be a good opener?? This isn’t freshman year anymore, that shit doesn’t slide. “I think it was okay, haha,” she says. You’re too drunk to discern if it’s a genuine smile or not (spoiler: it’s not). She moves towards her friends.
1:00 a.m.: Normally, this is when your night would start, but after a week of surviving on three hours of sleep a night, you’re ready to turn in. You turn to say goodbye to your old roommate, but you lost them a few parties ago. Damn. You start the trek home.
11:00 a.m: You wake up, groggy, dry-mouthed, and with a headache. You haven’t felt this shitty in the last two weeks, you think happily. You try to keep your exam-paper-flashbacks at bay. Finally, the freedom to get f*cked up.