There’s something promising about the beginnings of a new term.
There’s hope, determination and will that this year, this year will be the year everything changes. This will be the year where you won’t put off that essay till tomorrow, where you’ll make extra reading part of the compulsory reading (or just do the required reading for once), this will be the year where all nighters are a thing of the past, where all your tutors will speak about your gloriousness and how prepared you are and that really profound, insightful question you asked in your seminar. It’ll be the year where you’re hated by your peers and on top of that you’ll look fabulous and have an amazing social life too.
In reality, though you may start off that way, and honestly truthfully start as you mean to go on, but something always has to give. You may have to drop out of a society, never go to Sugarhouse again, or omit sleep from your daily schedule (it does take up so much of our precious time). One way or another, new term or not, you’ll realise it’s extremely difficult to have it all.
This year, being my third and final year at university, I really do hope I can strike that widely sought after balance of social savvy and super smarts to top off a great university experience so I can come out of university and be proud of my self.
If not, like every new term, at least I can look at my shiney new stationary. After all, I’ve already broken one new academic year resolution; I was meant to be tucked up in bed by eleven on a school night. Instead, I’m here, at half past midnight promising to do better tomorrow.