We’ve all been there—or getting there. Whether you’re on your pre-exam week or currently battling against sleep with books that barricade taller than your height, we sing of the same songs for our law school midterms.
If you think you’re scared and petrified, or on duet with your equally clueless seatmate on I-did-my-best but it wasn’t enough, you’re probably right. And below are some of the stages you’d naturally have to go through for your midterm exams:
So finally, the list is up.
You dread the thought of actually having the midterms schedule posted up. You eagerly avoid the office for the announcements, and you try to muffle conversations about how they cramped up you major subjects in one day. No matter how much you subdue the news of the apocalypse that is the midterm’s schedule, you simply have no choice. You can deny it as much as you can, for now, and please do not overkill your ear buds with grudgy, emo-punk sounds.
So you’re on it.
You figured there’s no stopping the week, yet you do your best to bargain and have your midterms moved to a later date, buying you more time to panic-study. You pray to your gods and promise to name your first child after your teacher if he becomes more lenient with the coverage. You selfishly wish that the current LPA ripens into a storm that could suspend your classes and eventually move the mids. And worst—you try to think of means to get sick, or pretend like one, with roll of logistics in mind: where to procure a fake med cert?
The day has arrived.
There’s no turning back. You line up like a zombie to the exam room, angered at everything. You loathe the sneeze of the guy sitting behind you, you get cranky over schoolmates who can afford to laugh about anything in the hallways, and a needle drop becomes an audible, noise pollution on the final minutes before your midterms. You are angry about the world, and how you arrive with a bad hair day. Worst, your pen just won’t cooperate.
It’s almost over.
You exit the exam room with too much sadness. You regret that you binged on the latest Homeland and traded the hours you could have spent reading with a time for drinking with your law school friends—who equally regret the nights, promising to allot more for library and less for the drink. You grieve over potential fails and rehearse about how you’ll explain to your mom. You desperately create fictional situations in mind that could save your grades like your life depends on it—because it does. You go home with an immense desolation that nothing can cure. So you call your classmate (one who knows no better than you do), and ask for a bit of consolation and of course—because misery loves company.
You realize later that there’s no point in crying over spilled milk—but there’s always fresh beer. Cheers!