The Vicious Cycle.
The sun is shining radiantly, only rarely marred by the dwindling wisps of clouds dotting the clear blue sky. Spring is about to arrive in the Great Northwest. There's only one problem: it's 35 degrees outside. Just yesterday, winter reared its ugly, frostbitten head for what we can only hope was the final time of the year and dusted the land with a powdery coat of snow and hail. But today, the only trace of it that remains is the unusually cold temperature. An epic battle is being fought on this March the 10th between the forces of spring and winter. We all know who will win.
The arrival of springtime on a college campus brings many things. Sunshine seems to be exponentially related to the number of frisbees present on the quad at any given time. You notice increased rustling of leaves as the squirrels and robins hail the arrival of spring with restless energy. And the students. The students look forward to one glorious week off from classes filled with endless possibilities: Spring Break. But one thing stands between us and that which we so desire. A beast so cruel and unusual that the mere mention of it strikes fear into the heart of any student: Finals Week.
At the end of every 10 week quarter, the beast greets us with its fiendish smile and hands us a scantron sheet. "Don't forget to fill in the bubbles as dark as you can!" it jeers. The students file anxiously into small, poorly lit rooms, armed with only pens, pencils, and heavy duty calculators. The bell rings! A cacophonous shuffling of papers immediately followed by two hours of dead silence. Manic scribbling everywhere you turn. Each correct answer written, a jab to the heart of the Finals Beast.
When it is all over, the students emerge from their rooms, bleary-eyed, exhausted, and jittery from all the caffeine. The beast has been slain; the battle is won. We are safe for another 10 weeks, at which point the vicious cycle will start anew. We wander outside and feel the familiar friendly rays of sunlight wrap us up in a warm cosmic embrace. "I know how you feel. Everything's going to be okay."
Tomorrow, the sun unequivocally comes out again and finishes off the last stubborn flakes of snow that cling to the ground. In the end, spring conquers winter. Forced to relinquish its icy death-grip on the land, winter slinks quietly back to its dwelling, sullen and forlorn. Biding its time until it can once again emerge and reclaim its place on the throne of just-enough-to-make-traffic-hell-but-not-enough-to-cancel-classes. But for now, it is off to days of glorious sunshine and t-shirt weather. Chirruping birds, blossoming flowers, and lazy sunbeams that tiptoe across warm hardwood floors.
We can only hope that the battles waged with our own finals will come to a similar victorious conclusion.
The arrival of springtime on a college campus brings many things. Sunshine seems to be exponentially related to the number of frisbees present on the quad at any given time. You notice increased rustling of leaves as the squirrels and robins hail the arrival of spring with restless energy. And the students. The students look forward to one glorious week off from classes filled with endless possibilities: Spring Break. But one thing stands between us and that which we so desire. A beast so cruel and unusual that the mere mention of it strikes fear into the heart of any student: Finals Week.
At the end of every 10 week quarter, the beast greets us with its fiendish smile and hands us a scantron sheet. "Don't forget to fill in the bubbles as dark as you can!" it jeers. The students file anxiously into small, poorly lit rooms, armed with only pens, pencils, and heavy duty calculators. The bell rings! A cacophonous shuffling of papers immediately followed by two hours of dead silence. Manic scribbling everywhere you turn. Each correct answer written, a jab to the heart of the Finals Beast.
When it is all over, the students emerge from their rooms, bleary-eyed, exhausted, and jittery from all the caffeine. The beast has been slain; the battle is won. We are safe for another 10 weeks, at which point the vicious cycle will start anew. We wander outside and feel the familiar friendly rays of sunlight wrap us up in a warm cosmic embrace. "I know how you feel. Everything's going to be okay."
Tomorrow, the sun unequivocally comes out again and finishes off the last stubborn flakes of snow that cling to the ground. In the end, spring conquers winter. Forced to relinquish its icy death-grip on the land, winter slinks quietly back to its dwelling, sullen and forlorn. Biding its time until it can once again emerge and reclaim its place on the throne of just-enough-to-make-traffic-hell-but-not-enough-to-cancel-classes. But for now, it is off to days of glorious sunshine and t-shirt weather. Chirruping birds, blossoming flowers, and lazy sunbeams that tiptoe across warm hardwood floors.
We can only hope that the battles waged with our own finals will come to a similar victorious conclusion.