3B
Wednesday, November 15, 2017 // The Statement
Soundtracking: Midterms
I
did this to myself. I have no one else to
blame but yours truly.
I had a syllabus. I had a to-do list app on
my phone and my laptop. I even had sticky
notes taped to my mirror to remind me to start
earlier. I knew having a midterm paper and an exam
on the same day would be a recipe for disaster, but I
didn’t think about the fact that I’m a shitty cook.
The paper has to be 1,400 to 1,500 words. The
exam is multiple choice and free response. It’s 9 p.m.
and I decide to head to the Hatcher Graduate Library
Reference Room. It’s big enough where if I crawled
under the desk and died, it would take a few days for
someone to discover my lifeless body and arrange for
me to take my exam in the afterlife.
On my way to the Graduate Library, I pick up a
large black coffee and a Red Bull. I’ve never had one
before, but it seems like a rite of passage for a small
boy about to cram for the worst day of his life. My
friends pulled all-nighters almost every week last
year. The honors math track almost got the best of
them. I’d be going to bed around midnight or 1 in
the morning Thursday night, and I’d walk past my
friends, their heads buried in their pages of math
homework. “Night, guys!” I’d say as I walk past.
They’d all look up, bags under their eyes and sadness
radiating. I promised myself I’d never put myself
through that form of hell. Must’ve crossed my fingers
or something ’cause I went right ahead and broke that
promise by waiting to start so late.
I slam my backpack on the ground in the Reference
Room. Heads jolt up, but I’m too busy getting ready
to face my demons to care. My coffee and Red Bull
sitting on the desk, I open my laptop and pull up the
study guide. In the wise words of Lil Pump, “Esketit.”
All Night — Chance the Rapper
“All night, I’ve been drinking all night, I’ve been
drinking all night, I’ve been drinking, ay ay”
Working through my haphazard lecture notes
and attempting to stay focused on the vocab, I keep
sipping from my chalices, alternating between hot
and cold. As the clock winds forward, both elixirs
become lukewarm and gross.
I’ve been staring at this vocab sheet for three hours
now and I still know nothing, which is a really good
start, I’d say. Comparing my dismal notes to the
lecture slides on Canvas, there is a clear discrepancy.
Sometimes I think about what it was like 40 years
ago when you had to just write down everything the
professor said to be prepared for an exam. When
middle schoolers who love the Rolling Stones and the
Who say, “I was born in the wrong generation,” I don’t
think they realize the gravity of that statement. Try
studying for an exam without PowerPoint, kid.
I keep looking at the exam review, then my notes,
then the slideshow. Vocab, notes, slideshow, repeat.
These definitions make zero sense, but writing them
down is the only hope I have at this point.
Definition — Black Star
My eyes are drooping. This can’t happen now. Wake
up, Matt. I smack myself across the face a few times to
jolt myself up. The girl next to me gives me the side
eye. Nice to meet you, hardworking student who will
probably leave way before me.
Just as I start to drift off a little, a loud bell chimes
across the Reference Room. I look at my watch: 12:00.
A voice rings over the speaker but no words can be
deciphered. It sounds like a parent in a Charlie Brown
holiday special. All I can make out is it’s midnight and
something about University of Michigan students. He
could be telling me everything on my exam tomorrow
and I would never know. What a shame.
I reach for my Red Bull. Nothing. It’s empty like
my soul at this point. Same with my coffee. A brown
ring lines the bottom of my cup. With my body full of
caffeine and regret, I contemplate my next move.
No Coffee — Amber Coffman
I can’t stay here anymore. I need to get out. I feel
trapped like Sybil in her jar. Yeah, that was a T.S. Eliot
reference. I’m capable of more than just kids’ movies
and Nickelodeon references. Where’s my upper-level
writing requirement fulfillment?
I pack up my stuff and head back to the South Quad
Residence Hall basement, the same place my friends
spent every Thursday night and Friday morning last
year. Life gets a kick out of irony.
With my life wasting away, I decide to roll the dice
and start breaking away at this paper. Hopefully, it’ll
be better than the exam.
*Three hours later*
I think I’m delusional. I’m drying up.
Water Me — Lizzo
If you’re reading this, if you’ve made it this far, send
help. I’m only 600 words into a 1,400-word essay and
I don’t know if I’ll make it.
Reflecting on the events that led me to this moment
isn’t pleasant, but the only way we grow is through
learning from our mistakes. Honestly, I’d rather learn
enough to ace this exam and finish this paper instead,
but I guess this’ll do.
I can’t believe I thought this would be a blessing.
Two big grades the same day? Let’s get them out of
the way! Nothing could go wrong. After I’m done,
it’s all downhill until the end of the semester. Too
bad I might never make it up the
hill to begin with.
One-hundred words in my essay
later, I check my watch again. Oh
no.
4:44 — JAY-Z
How the hell is it almost 5
in the morning? I haven’t done
anything. This night has been the
educational equivalent of going
trick-or-treating and only getting
toothbrushes and Dots.
I’m writing this essay but I’m
not even sure what the English
language is at this point. The lines
blur together. I hope this bad boy
is even slightly coherent. This is
the biggest RIP. Time slows and
speeds by simultaneously. What is
life?
____45_____ — Bon Iver
*Three more hours later*
You know that episode of
“SpongeBob” when Mr. Krabs is
calling the radio station asking for
the song that goes “Beep beep boop bebop boop bop?”
That’s basically my inner monologue at this point. Nine
a.m. is not a good look on this young lad. Still wearing
the same outfit as yesterday, I have made a Matt
Harmon-shaped dent in this couch I’ve been sitting on.
I’ve watched the dining hall open for the unfortunate
souls with 8 a.m. classes. Well-rested students fresh
out of the shower get ready to face the day with an
enthusiasm unknown to mankind while I fade into
oblivion.
The same friends in my position last year are no
longer on the honors math track, which means they get
eight hours of wonderful sleep now. I see them walk
down the stairs from the South Quad lobby to greet me.
I knew this day would come.
“How’re you feelin’, Matt?” they ask. I guess this
is what I deserve. I just didn’t think it would sting as
much.
They head off to their 9 o’clocks as I stay right where
I was. I hope they visit in an hour.
Call Me on Your Way Back Home — Ryan Adams
Four hours until my exam, my paper is done. It may
have been written with my blood, sweat and tears, but
it’s done. I don’t think it was actually Hemingway who
said, “Write drunk, edit sober,” but last night, I was not
drunk and I will definitely not be editing this paper
at all so looks as if I failed Ernest or whoever he
stole the mantra from.
I walk into class, ready to turn in my paper and do
some last-minute cramming for my exam in a few
hours. My eyes are dead, the fire inside has burned
out. I ask my friend in lecture when we’re turning
in the paper. What she said proved someone is out
to get me. By someone, I mean myself because as I
said before, I have no one else to blame but yours
truly.
“The paper? You mean the one that’s due next
week?” she said.
Ballad of the Dying Man — Father John Misty
BY MATT HARMON, DAILY STAFF REPORTER
ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY KOFFSKY