Photo Courtesy of Karen Lindell

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. No, not Christmas season, finals season. At least it was. But now, the library is empty and we move on with our lives. The anxiety of finals is left as distant memory that we will carry with us in the form of stress dreams that haunt us well into our mid-40s.

“I keep caffeinating myself, but all that happens is my heart rate increases and I still feel like I’m dying.”

-11:11 a.m., first floor

“Where would you feel pain if your leg is cut off?”

“In your leg.”

“BUT YOUR LEG IS GONE.”

-3:01 a.m., men’s bathroom

“Dude, chill. You’re a freshman. You don’t even know the meaning of soul-crushing anxiety.”

-12:50 p.m., elevator

“Which diversity am I?”

-10:06 p.m., white girl in the ethnic studies section of the second floor

“So he’s American, not Hispanic?”

-4:07 p.m., old woman outside of the library

“Twerking might be genetic, kinda like how some people can move their ears.”

-7:54 p.m., first floor

“Some ugly guys can be fuckboys, too, like, I don’t know why.”

-6:33 p.m., a fuckboy on the fourth floor

“Daddy wants a cracker.”

-9:09 p.m., 6’0” male on the second floor

“Last Fall Quarter my boyfriend broke up with me and I got an extension on my final paper. It was great.”

-2:43 p.m., fourth floor

“Did you know that an A- is a 3.7 not a 4.0?”

-6:34 p.m., freshman on the fifth floor