A couple months ago, I ran into a friend of mine at Hillside. I hadn’t seen her in a while, so I proposed dinner plans at some point that week. “I’d love to,” she responded. “But let me check my GCal …” In seconds, her computer was open, and Google Calendar (colloquially referred to as GCal) was pulled up.
Like many Boston College students, I am a creature of habit. I blast music in the communal showers, always reach for the same pair of jeans, and drink my coffee with a splash of milk and one Splenda. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on habits—specifically, my bad ones.
About a month ago, I turned 20. This wasn’t sudden—I knew it was coming. It didn’t sneak up from behind or jump out from under my bed. In the back of my mind, there had been a slow countdown to the date that had been in my calendar since Jan. 11, 2005. Still, I wasn’t ready for how weird it would feel to no longer be a teenager.
The first week of classes is a little like the first week of January. I’m extra nice to everyone, striving for 10,000 steps a day, and trying not to eat carbs. Then, by January 7—or the second week of the semester—I’ve given up on my utopian resolutions and succumbed to Late Night at the Rat.
For as long as I’ve known how to, I’ve loved reading. In middle school, I always joined my school’s annual competition to see who could read the most books over the summer. The last week of school, I would roam the Barnes and Nobles in my neighborhood, accumulating a pile of books taller than I was and paying for them with the B&N gift cards I received every Christmas from my relatives. In September, after a long summer of reading, I was always crowned one of the winners.
The mid-semester rut is upon us, from midterm season to the frigid air enveloping our surroundings. You can feel the panic, anxiety, and stress that comes with the seemingly never-ending “midpoint of the semester.” The unavoidable chaos it brings can make it hard to take a deep breath.
At the top of the page in big black lettering read “Hardey Hall Room 316.” Hands shaking, I plugged Hardey Hall into Google and was met with the result that no incoming freshman wants: Newton Campus. Cue the devastation.
