Dear Spring 2019 finals,
You have crossed my mind every day for the last month, and I have now deemed it time to tell you what I’ve thought about. My last two years of high school, I was in the IB Diploma Programme. I took six IB classes my senior year, four of which continued from the previous year. At the end of the year, I had exams in all six classes, covering all material in the syllabus. Yes, including content from the previous year. The exams each occurred over the course of up to three days, which meant I had up to 18 possible exam days.
And you are so much worse than that.
To you, my American History final: why must you carry 35.71 percent of my final grade? Mathematically speaking, I can’t even pass the class without taking you. You ask me to prepare eleven essays, but tell me you’ll only test me on five of them. From my seat, I put more into this relationship than you do. Your blue books no longer, if ever, bring me joy. Given that we lack an even trade of effort and energy between us, I think it best if we don’t see each other again.
Oh, my Probability and Statistics final: how you daunt me. Twelve chapters’ worth of material, most of which I earned a 65 percent or less on in the quizzes; a formula sheet ruined by a burst banana in my backpack that I’ll have to use unless I can figure out how to print a new one and so many empty notebook pages because I stopped taking notes six weeks into the semester. Have I brought this pain on myself? Yes. Do I work frantically to right my carelessness? Also, yes. Although I recognize you should not bear fully the blame for your existence, I can’t get past the fact that I never want to see you. I should not run panicked 24/7 to fix a relationship I don’t wish to continue.
While I thoroughly enjoyed the nine hours I spent actively studying for you alone in the library yesterday, the time has come for us to call it quits.
To my Elizabethan Literature final paper: I don’t look forward to seeing how you turn out. Your vagueness in regard to specific topics is, frankly, uninspiring. Your audacity to focus on two dramas assigned weeks ago but never read is inconceivable. The probability of me writing the paper on said dramas without ever picking up a physical copy is highly likely. Elizabethan Literature final, I just don’t feel a spark between us, and I don’t believe I ever did. I know you’ll find someone in a future class that wants to write you, but I will never be that person. You must find someone new.
How could I forget about you, American Politics? 45 percent of my final grade, non-cumulative (I think? I hope?) and a study guide that you identified as unclear and incomplete. I should feel more inclined to prepare for you given that I might major in your department, but where has my motivation gone? Has it fled with my desire to continue our relationship? Maybe so. That said, I find your lack of effort and energy quite off-putting and I will no longer pursue our relationship.
Spring 2019 finals, you and I never matched up well.
At first, perhaps, the prospect of what a successful relationship between us could bring excited me. Now, however, I dread hearing your name and loathe preparing for you. You haven’t picked up on my signals, so I think it best—for both of us—if we terminate our relationship permanently. Don’t expect a call from me.
Goodbye and good riddance,
Written while procrastinating preparing for the listed finals.