Interterm isn’t real and I’ll tell you why. I’ve just woken up and it’s 3:42 pm on a weekday (though I couldn’t tell you which one). I slept through my class this morning and despite the fact that I’m missing 73 assignments, I know I’ll pass because who the fuck takes a real class during interterm?
I’m living. I’m laughing. I’m writing this while on 70 mg of xanax. I’ve been challenging and stimulating my brain by showing up to class high out of my mind and treating it like it's some sort of mini game. I then go home for some self care and drink a bottle of wine with my roommate starting immediately at 12:51 pm. I’ve managed to watch all of Skins UK in the span of 4 days. I am Effy Stonem (my eyeliner is smeared and I just learned what a k-hole is on accident).
And as January comes to a close and the Anderson Parking lot once again becomes a warzone, I’ll cherish the stillness of Chapman while I can: No lines at The D, freedom to walk around campus without running into a Hinge match, and the glory of Beckman first floor bathroom not smelling like nuclear warfare. Interterm forever, baby – I’m healing. (Can someone sell me adderall?)
