Apparently, the finals-induced delusions have convinced me it’s time to transition from making comments on other people’s wisdom to trying my hand at some ramblings of my own.  Whereas you should expect little more than mediocrity and utter absurdity from my comments, you will inevitably waste your valuable time reading them–such is the sad, sad reality of our relentless pursuit of purposeful procrastination. Therefore, I promise to compensate for my complete lack of wit with regular updates on celebrity gossip, and, if you’re really lucky, updates on BLB gossip that are not available on Facebook Mini-feed.

I spent a long time (ten minutes top) contemplating the topic of my first post. I mean, stepping out from behind the comment curtain is a big step and if I blow it I risk eternal rejection from this sacred online community. So, it is with utter humility and pre-first-date-sweaty-palms that I submit for your approval my very first blog post. Deep breath…here goes.

[Clears throat] Finals bring out a lot of really bizarre behaviours in our classmates. Our male colleagues decide that is not only socially acceptable but actually incredibly cool to stop shaving. Females trade their high heels and matching handbags for day old hair and sweatpants. We replace afternoon naps with coffee, bedtime with Red Bull, and social drinking with sorrow-drowning alcoholism. For two weeks we suffer, for one night we celebrate, and after a day of recovery, our lives return to normal. With one exception–the Finals Five.

The Finals Five is ruthless. It enters quietly, never all at once, but in small, generally unnoticed blurps. It starts off innocent enough. It’s 2 am, you’ve been outlining for a solid ten hours, your eyes are only half functional and your stomach is screaming for nourishment. In an effort to tame the beast you head to the kitchen, rummage through the pantry and grab the first thing you can see–Oreos. Yes, that is perfect. Your first thought is “What?! Oreos at 2am?  Carbs after 7 pm?! Have you lost your mind?!” But, soon you find yourself helpless, shoving the round disks of lardy goodness into your mouth, relishing the cathartic gluttony until you almost forget what drove you to the kitchen at such an hour. Eventually you come up for air, stopping yourself just short of a sugar-induced coma. You put the Oreos back in the cupboard (if you’ve somehow managed not to consume the entire bag), drink a glass of water and return to your bunker. It’s ok, you tell yourself, it was just one night. I needed it. I DESERVED it. Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll be fine. You study for a few more minutes before drifting into a milk and cookies induced deep sleep.

The thing is, finals must get worse before they get better, creating the vulnerability on which the Finals Five feeds. As you continue to seek comfort in over processed, prepackaged convenience you find yourself suddenly lacking that extra energy to hit the gym or go for a run. You simply can’t, you tell yourself. For every hour I spend running there are five gunners beating the curve!! MUST. STUDY. Studying leads to procrastination which leads to later nights which leads to more and more run-ins with the 2 am cookie monster…you see the pattern. But whereas the pattern is clear, the Finals Five finds yet another way to hide its identity–your sweatpants.

See, not only do we seek solace in sugar, and cut gym time in favor of library time but we also can’t be bothered to spend time picking out an outfit. And, I don’t know about you, but no time for outfit selection=default outfit–SWEATPANTS. Eating+expandable waistband+no outlet for the calories..oh HELL no…you see where this is going…

THE FINALS FIVE.  After two weeks of studying and eating and foregoing all unnecessary bodily functions (and maybe even some of the lesser-necessary ones as well) it’s all over and it’s time to PAR-TAY. You rush to your closet, pick out your favorite pair of jeans and sexy top, go to put them on and…wait….did I accidentally put these in the dryer?….it is only as you find yourself futilely struggling with your zipper that the full force of finals hits you. It is then that the Finals Five makes its final pounce. At this point, you have two options. You can sit at home, lamenting your moments of weakness over the past two weeks, rationalizing that your bathroom scale can’t possibly be correct b/c clearly your bathroom floor is not a flat surface. OR, you can do what real professionals do….

Head to the bar in your sweatpants.

I’m coming home in a week. I’ll see you at the bar…in my sweatpants