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.
