How the FUCK is it finals week already? It was just summer.
Literally, last week I was trying to figure out what to wear for the perfect slutty-patriotic mix on the Fourth of July.
And what? Thanksgiving is over? Just like that?
I DIDN’T GET ENOUGH PIE.
Whatever. It’s fine. I’m doing okay in my classes.
I mean, I’m not failing.
Wait. Am I failing?
I can’t be. I go to class. Most days. Some days. Well, I’ve been to class.
I’ll just look up my grades, calculate what I have to get on the final, and study with the mouth breather who always sits in the front of the class.
Where’s that syllabus?
I know I have one.
Oh, wait, no. I skipped the first class because it was syllabus week. And ladies’ night. And pointless.
I can do this. People who are way dumber than I am do this. If they can, I can.
Okay, so if there are four tests and I did okay on three of them, all I need is a…117 percent to get an A in the class.
That’s fine. A B is good. A B is still above average. And I’m pretty, so it balances out.
I got this. Let’s do this shit. Education, here I come.
Alright, here’s the book. Let me just take the plastic wrap off of it…
So, now I just have to read 15 chapters by tomorrow and I should be good. Psh, easy.
Actually, first, I need some highlighters.
And coffee. A quick Starbucks run to stay awake should do the trick.
And I should grab some lunch. Brain food.
And I’m pretty sure there’s a sale at Target today, so…
Two-for-one candy canes? DONE.
Okay, I have my coffee, my highlighters, and my festive candy. Halfway there.
Let me just snap this to my story real quick. #OnThatStudyGrind #StudyingSelfie
Chapter one. Here we go.
Wait, let’s find some soothing study music.
Okay, “Blank Space,” then soothing music.
“Blank Space” one more time. Then soothing music.
If I was Taylor Swift, I wouldn’t have to fucking learn about science and shit.
This is actual torture.
Hmm. I wonder if the girl whose notes I always copy has a study guide or the answer key or magic powers or something.
I should ask before I waste all my time actually learning.
Why don’t I have her number? What do I do? Facebook message her like it’s the fucking Dark Ages?
What’s her name? Jessa? Jenna? Jennifer? Something
basic like that? Huh, we have 73 mutual friends–wait, is she? Yep, she’s friends with my ex.
What the hell is that about?
What are they, like, actual friends? Have they hooked up?
Are her pictures private?
She’s not even that pretty.
Wait. She has a picture with him. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?
I LET THAT BITCH USE MY PEN.
OMG. It’s on. Screw getting help from her. I’m going to beat her in this final. Time to buckle down.
Hello, Adderall. We meet again.
How long does this take to kick in?
Was I supposed to snort it or something?
Any time now…
Wait, wait, here it comes.
Oh, no. It’s wearing off. Ugh, the distractions.
Beautiful phone! How I missed you.
Four texts? Damn. Slow down, guys.
You put your phone away for, like, two hours and the whole world goes crazy.
Oh, cool. Everyone is going out tonight.
No. No, I can’t. I need to study. For my future. And my future children’s future. And to beat the replacement bitch.
But…I mean. I got through five chapters.
And the first chapters are always the most important chapters, right?
If my test is at nine, I’ll just wake up at six and finish studying.
And I won’t even get super drunk.
What would Taylor Swift do?
Be young and reckless and go out to Thirsty Thursday. Done. #WWTSD
I’ll be responsible and set an alarm before I go and I’ll be good.
Uh…shots? No, I can’t.
Well, maybe one.
Fuck guys. And finals. And guys taking finals. And girls who steal guys taking finals.
I bet my ex’s new “friend” is being lame and studying.
She doesn’t need a 117 percent so her future children won’t starve.
Wait, what if she’s WITH him.
OMG I HAVE TO TEXT HIM.
“heyyyyyyycum down my chimnneyt;$”
Perfect. Funny, subtle, and classy. Nailed it.
I need a beer.
“I’ve got a *hiccup* blank space, baby, and I’ll *hiccup* write your name.”
WHY CAN’T I JUST SING ABOUT LOVE AND RIDING A HORSE FOR A LIVING LIKE T.SWIFT?
What in the ACTUAL fuck is that noise?
An alarm? Who sets an alarm? I’m sleeping. And dying.
Wait. Shit. Alarm. Final.
What time is it? 8:30?! How did I hit snooze five times? This is my nightmare.
Well, here we go. Final time.
I’m sure I’ll be fine. I mean, Cs get degrees.
And at least I’m pretty, right?
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