It is almost Spring Break on the OKWU campus. Six days and counting and, boy, are they counting!
Everyone gets more excited and more and more antsy with each day.
I am dreading Spring Break with everything in me. It isn’t because I don’t relish seven to nine days of hanging with my friends and family doing nothing; I am very excited for that. I’m dreading it because of what Spring Break means.
Spring Break marks the middle of the spring semester. Midterm tests and grades come out just before. We drive ourselves crazy with our packed, to-do lists and wait-to-the-last minute studying, and, then, all of a sudden, it is over, and time for a break.
We leave school because they force us off campus, not that we really want to hang around campus for a week by ourselves; we rest, go on vacation, go to the national basketball tournament, or do whatever we want to for a week, then come back.
But what happens when we get back?
In just eight weeks, a very short eight weeks, it is all over.
(This is the part I dread.)
We go from the stress of midterms and wishing it could just be finished, so we could get some sleep, to relaxation which ends all together too quickly, to the last eight weeks of school, which go by so fast we might as well only have eight days after Spring Break and just be done with it.
For me, it marks the speedy stretch to the finish line. I have been dragging my feet the first eight weeks of the semester, praying that time would crawl by, but, when break gets here, I know there is no stopping time.
The end of the year is coming.
It is drawing near faster and faster.
And there is nothing I can do to stop it.
I may be acting slightly dramatic, but I’m just trying to make clear to anyone reading how fast it feels. When Spring Break is over, there is only eight weeks of what I have spent the last four years doing, and that is scary.
Everyone else can be as excited as they want to be. They can skip out of class early and drive for hours to get home, spend every meal from now until they leave discussing their excitement, and be as happy as they want. But I will be sitting at that lunch or dinner table with my arms crossed willing Spring Break to get here just a few weeks later. Wishing the next eight weeks just won’t have to happen.
Yes, I know this isn’t going to work, especially based on the 3.5 seconds the last three weeks have felt like. But I’m going to wish it anyway.
I am going to loathe the institution of Spring Break, because I can, even if it has to happen anyway.