Ten Tips if School’s Making You Lose Your Mind (Life is Short)

1) Confirm whether you’re losing your mind 

ex) It’s 9:15 PM, but it was just 1:03. Or 1:04. Not too sure. I skipped lunch. My Finance textbook is big, fat, endless. Time keeps slipping away from me these days and I’m never sure where it’s going. I watch it like a cartoon character, with a big question mark lopsided above my head. I watch it with less clarity than when my dad forces me to watch college football. I would write a poem about this feeling, try to describe time like some sort of mouse that keeps skittering, or maybe like a sun that sets just when I get to looking at it. But I don’t even have the time to write a poem about time. Also, I’m a shitty writer. 

2) Remember that you’ll have time for fun

ex) The air in the frat pulses hot and steamy. A nagging feeling tells me to go home and study, but the pulse to stay out is stronger. I lift one hand and sway to songs I don’t know, just because I want to sway, to pretend like all there is to life is swaying. Like school and responsibilities don’t exist. Later, my friend and I take two shots. One more. It goes straight to my belly and crackles, spreading through my arms and up to my neck. I feel for some gum inside my pocket to get rid of the aftertaste. My hands are starting to get a little detached from me, my head feeling more like a balloon, which is how I know the night will be good. I feel like I never see you, I'm so happy you came! My friend says. She hugs me. Yeah, I hate school, I tell her. But something about what she says has burrowed into some deep hole, nagging, a mosquito I can't see. I need to take another shot. 

3) Before you lose your mind, get yourself on your feet 

ex) The sunlight tugs at my eyes. I open them slowly. My bra, hot pink and peppy, lies on the middle of the floor. My pants are sticking out from somewhere underneath the bed. Even my trash bag looks disheveled, leaning to the side as if tired. At least the orderliness of my room is loyal to that of my life. Hi, sleeping beauty, my boyfriend says. I don’t look like a sleeping beauty at all—my makeup’s still on, and I haven’t showered. But he, too, looks cute, lopsided, his head tilted as he looks at me. I smile weakly. 

4) Stay busy 

ex) The library smells like shit. Musty and diluted and dirty. It smells like the frat last night. Like life having gone fun and then stale. I don’t want to study here, I tell my boyfriend. Ok, we can go wherever you want. I think. I don’t know. He suggests going to a coffee shop—He’s a Music Business major, and likes to hear coffee shop music. Yeah, sure. I have a Starbucks gift card. He squeezes my hand. Don’t spend it on me. You like your coffee more. But, like, I wish we could go on an actual coffee date soon. His smile spreads outwards like warm honey. It’s one of my favorite things about him, the pure raw happiness emanating from it. He’s a bluebird, my tall little bluebird, always chirping. I’m not a chirper at all. I'm stoic and serious, to the point my mom says I sometimes come across as a cold snob (hopefully untrue). Either way, my boyfriend chirps for the both of us. What do you want to do? When? He asks. I think. Well, I’m busy until Thursday with my Finance midterm, so can we play it by ear? Like next weekend, something, maybe? My boyfriend nods. Sure. I mean, you're always busy. I smile awkwardly. I know what he's trying to imply, but I don't have the energy for another fight about how I neglect him during midterms. Look, I love you. I say instead. He gives me a small smile. I love you too, you know, all I want to do is spend time with you. And— I look at the time on my phone. Can we just—not now, ok? I love you, but it’s already 1:15PM. I really need to start studying. Sometimes I imagine myself like a hot air balloon, always floating to new places but never coming down. Yeah, sure. Thankfully my boyfriend, among my parents and a few others, holds some of the tether lines. But no—we will do something fun. We have to. I don’t know when but soon. Once midterms are finally over, I will spend time with him and my friends and whoever else. 

5) Look like you know you're the shit (even if studying makes you feel like shit)

ex) Makeup has never failed me. I equate it to perfume—empowering, seductive, invincible. My mom raised me saying—the world is a war against women, and beauty’s a weapon. I smother on foundation heavy, trying to look less pale. Some blush adds a rosier, more carefree look. I lightly rest my hand on the sink counter as I draw my eyeliner. My left side leaves my hand a little shaky. Nothing a wipe can’t magically erase. Finally comes my favorite part—lipstick. My lips are unfortunately on the thinner side, so I always go for a lighter pink–red hue. I stare at my reflection, make a kissy face. The blush gives me a sort of mature cheekbone, self–assured but not too assertive. This is what the world sees, what the world will only see, I tell myself. Hot air balloons don’t look put together, but you do. I don’t think about the end of the day, when it’ll all be gone and I’m left with myself. 

6) Indulge in material stuff 

ex) In my afternoon Consumer Psychology class, we learn about “happy” hormones: dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin. Dopamine from hugging. Oxytocin from sex. Serotonin from sleeping. But I’m a woman of shortcuts, so instead of taking notes I look up foods that have high levels of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, respectively. Avocados and dark chocolate seem high on the list. I send the links to my boyfriend and my mom. My boyfriend’s response: This is an excuse to feed your sugar addiction. My mom’s: I can’t click on this link. 

7) Ignore that you’re losing your mind

ex ) I finally get to my boyfriend’s dorm around 1AM, two hours later than planned. He’s sitting at his desk, blasting Drake’s latest album and shaking his head to the beat. Sorry I’m late, I was finishing up my case study. I hug him from behind. The curls of his hair, growing out from his last haircut a few weeks ago, lightly tickle my nose. It's fine, I mean, you usually come much later than you planned. His voice has a slight jab to it. I nod, slowly. That’s true. I plop my backpack down, sit on his bed. My boyfriend sits next to me. You seem serious, he says. I sigh. It’s just. You know. He waits for me to continue. It’s already February and I feel like the years are passing me by, and all I do is study. I want to do things that young people do. I play with my fingers. But you are young. You're only 21. And you went out a few days ago, and yesterday we ate at that Chinese place you wanted to try, remember? He laughs. I frown. Well, I don't feel young. All I do is study, and then I’m going to get old, and what will I be nostalgic for? What?   

8) Take your mind with a grain of salt 

My boyfriend taps my forehead. Does a sweeping motion, as if wiping stray lint off the clothes of my thoughts. Yeah, you're studying a lot, but my point is you’re making a lot of great memories too. I smile coquettishly. Making great memories with you, you mean? Compliment fisher. He laughs, taps my forehead again. Just don’t take life too seriously. You invent all sorts of problems for yourself if you do. Also, I love you. I burrow my head into his chest. I love you too. He pauses. But, if I’m being honest, I do, you know, I feel like you change during midterms. Like you get all stressed and robotic, and it's like you're a different person. Like you're not my girlfriend anymore. I look up at him. Isn’t that just what being stressed is like? He shakes his head. No, you, like, you change. You’re less present. I can’t describe it. And then whenever you’re not studying for a midterm, you always spend so much more time with your friends. We never get quality time. I create some distance from him. But when I have midterms, the only person I eat meals with and study with is you. He looks at me, once, hard. But I told you, you’re like a different person. And it’s always shorter meals, and we always just talk about how you’re stressed. It’s not like we keep getting to know each other. It’s just—I feel like I can handle seeing both my friends and you during midterms, and you operate a lot differently. I look at my hands, feeling my eyes blur. I feel as a general rule, we talk about a lot more than about my being stressed. Am I really always that stressed? I don’t think so. I hope I'm not. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I talk about being stressed so much. But that’s just… this is how I study. He sighs. I know, but I feel like most people don’t just shut down when they have midterms, they manage to still have a balance. I look at my hands again, embarrassed. I’m always too busy with school to feel like I have my life together, and I hate that my boyfriend sees it. But then again, I sell my soul to make enough time for him and my friends. Well, you can’t manage my schedule for me. You can’t tell me when to see my friends either. And my priority is school. Hints of anger and hurt seep through my voice. He pauses, hugs me tight. I know, I'm sorry, I just love you so much and just want to spend as much time with you as possible, because you make me so happy. I hug him back. Any time with you is like diamonds to me, he says. I smile, nestle in deeper. I make a mental note to do something fun with him on Friday. I was going to go out with friends, but I think our relationship might need it. I love you too. 

9) Be happy that everyone else is losing their mind

ex) I fell asleep on him while watching Shrek 2—a movie of my choice, since my boyfriend always lets me choose which movie we want to watch. A large crack of thunder suddenly wakes me. The room still has the lights on. My eye contacts are still in. I shudder, burrow myself into a fuzzy blue blanket and look out the window. It’s pitch black, save for a small moon beginning to emerge. There’s the faint sound of crickets and squirrels, the hefty sounds of traffic. Vaguely in the distance I see someone walking home from the library, their back hunched. I make out a security guard watching TikToks of guinea pigs. I wonder if I would have a pet guinea pig. Chinchillas are cuter.

10) Realize that losing your mind is okay (even if life is short)

ex) I look at my finance textbook perched on the desk, all innocent and idle. It’s not its fault that I hate it so much. It’s not its fault that no matter what I do, how much I enjoy and experience and live, I’ll always be searching for more. Searching to never think too much, to avoid the disquiet from reflecting about whether I’m living right. Searching for a feeling of calm, a feeling that I'm not being pulled in hundreds of different directions, trying to maintain each rope. Searching for the romanticized version of happiness (life is short). Searching for what can’t exist—to tether every hot air balloon, when maybe they should just be let go. The rain suddenly slams against the window, turning my attention back outside. Always so much going on in this big little world—and then there's me and everyone else.   

ex) …

ex) The next day my boyfriend asks if I want to get pizza for dinner. He says he’s been wanting to go to this new place for a while. I look at him, look down at my phone, at a picture of us making a stupid face on my lock screen. It’s one of my favorite pictures of us—just looking at it makes me love him more. But that other girl inside me—the logical one, the one who festers upon what I won’t admit—wonders if it will still be there next year. Instead I smile, put my phone face–down, and give him a hug. I know you don’t like pizza that much, but please, do you want to go? He asks. A brief pause, too small for him to notice. I do.