by Charlotte Briggs
It’s that time of year again where many final year students are found in their natural habitat – cramming in the library. Everyone’s mood can be translated into Ross Geller’s margarita meltdown, and we all know how that ended (spoiler alert – he really wasn’t fine). Whilst we endure the tears and tantrums of third year deadlines, three months prior we didn’t picture ourselves in this mess. In fact, we all had pretty different expectations…
As soon as there’s mention of your dissertation, you’ll be organised and learn the hand in dates off by heart.
You fish the handout from under your bed when your course mates start humble bragging about hand ins and pray you haven’t missed the deadline.
You’ll make a timetable to equally balance your studies and social life, you grown up you.
You binge watch Netflix on your ‘guided study weeks’ and cram an entire terms worth of work in the night before/on your way to the exam.
You’ll use some pinterest worthy revision techniques and get creative with post it notes and colour-coordinated cue cards.
You buy one highlighter and post it on Snapchat, before realising that you majorly CBA.
You’ll spend weeks working on assignments so you won’t rush them at the last minute.
You’ll realise that organisation is an urban legend and move into the library three days before deadlines.
You’ll spend months perfecting your dissertation because it’s your masterpiece, your child and the reason you actually attended all of those 9 AM lectures.
If you can resist applying for an extension, you’ll buy a lifetime supply of cheap energy drinks and endure a solid week of sleep deprivation.
You’ll cook lots of nutritious meals to help stimulate your brain, because food is fuel and fuel is your brains BFF.
The amount of delivery men with takeaways outside your University is both alarming and envy inducing, as you sulk with your Boots meal deal.
You’ll have your dissertation prepped, bound and ready to hand in before its due date, because you’re a responsible grown up.
You forget that it’s a bank holiday and everything’s shut, so stay up all night crying to have it ready for binding the Saturday before (or was that just me?).
You’ll take a group photo with your course mates at University after hand ins to commemorate the moment of sweet freedom.
You turn up two minutes before the deadline looking homeless because you overslept, god damn it.
Post exam/deadlines will leave you feeling incredible and on top of the world.
It’s the most underwhelming feeling ever.
You’ll fly out of University with a first-class degree and into your dream job.
You’ll feel incredibly proud of yourself that you stuck out a degree, and retire to your bed for the rest of time. Because who wants to grow up anyway?