Page 21 of I Blame the Dimples
Lou
University may be a social improvement from high school, but the workload per class certainly isn’t.
The issue lies with the cruel nature of week one: the ultimate tease. Exception being Professor Anderson’s class, the first couple weeks of university were a breeze. A delight, even. I would go as far as to say some assignments were even enjoyable.
Introduce week three: the ultimate scramble. As we head into the end of September, professors have realized how far behind we’ve fallen on the course outline (why it took them three weeks to figure this out remains undetermined) and have kicked into high gear. All at the same time.
The laidback course vibes are a long-forgotten memory. I can’t remember what it feels likenotto have eight assignments, four exams, oh and five assigned readings due every week. My courses and I went from having a healthy relationship to a downright toxic one.
It will come as a surprise to absolutely no one that my powers of procrastination are quite the detriment in this never-ending game of time management. The lecture my mother gave me all those years ago is finally starting to sink in.
My cause isn’t helped by the amount of extracurricular activities Stella drags me to each week. True to her word, my roommate has put in her best efforts to make my Taber experience as enjoyable as possible. For her, that means dragging me to every art show and local theatre production Taber has to offer. She even managed to drag me to one swing dance practice, but after a spectacular near-concussion experience, we decided that was my first – and last – time swing dancing.
The upside is Stella’s plan seems to be working social-wise, familiar faces now smile at me in the halls, but the downside is my time spent studying has seriously diminished. And by seriously diminished, I mean non-existent.
To be fair, we do have study sessions. However, the serious intent of said study sessions only last for about five minutes before Stella starts playing music, dancing in her seat, and eventually convinces me that our time could be more productive doing an activity that does not involve textbooks.
Case in point: what does doing handstands in an empty football stadium have to do with chemistry? We spent two hours doing the former and still I cannot tell you.
After I bombed an online quiz last weekend (re: forgot to take it), I had to sit my spirited roommate down to negotiate a contract: She can plan two outings each week, one during the weekdays and one during the weekend, and in return, an hour and a half quiet time is allocated to five afternoons a week.
For me, this means studying and getting assignments done; for Stella this means dance partying with earplugs in behind her closed door. When I first noticed Stella’s studying habits, or lack thereof, I was concerned. There is a mandatory number of classes a residence student must take to stay eligible for residence, so I started to worry that my bubbly roommate might be on the verge of failing her classes.
I’m not one to broach uncomfortable topics, but after a few days of internal debate, I finally worked up the courage to bring up the topic during tonight’s movie night.
“Stella, I’ve got a bit of a personal question for you.” Grabbing the remote to click pause, my roommate turns her full attention on to me.
Deep breaths, Lou. Be brave.
“I don’t know how to say this…are you doing okay in your classes? Grade wise, I mean. I don’t mean to pry; it’s just I’ve never seen you study.” My throat thickens traitorously and suddenly I’m blinking hard to hold in my tears. “And if you have to drop classes you might have to move out of residence and I… I don’t want to be here if you’re not going to be here.” A single tear leaks out and I quickly wipe it away with my sleeve.
To my utmost horror, Stella bursts out laughing.
“Oh Lou, I’m not going anywhere! First off, I would never leave you to fend for yourself in these dorms. What if your new roommate sleepwalked? Or left their toenail clippings in the sink?” Pausing to shudder, Stella continues, “Second, I currently have a 4.0 GPA in all my classes, so there’s slim chance I’ll have to drop out.” My mouth drops open.
“But how? I don’t think you’ve opened a textbook in my presence.” Stella pats my hand reassuringly.
“I’m sorry, I should have explained sooner. Every morning I wake up at 4:30 and hit the gym for a couple of hours. We always head to breakfast around 8:45, so I come back to the dorm, hop in the shower, and get all my homework for the next day done.” Shrugging, she flicks a platinum strand over her shoulder. “I’ve always been a morning person and I find it easier to focus after working out. I’m borderline ADHD and find it hard to sit still. I’m so sorry for distracting you during our library sessions, though.”
My brows pull together, brain struggling to process the new information.
“So, you hit the gym and get all your homework done… before I wake up?” At her nod, I feel my level of laziness reach new heights. Of course, I’d noticed Stella is always picture perfect when we head down to breakfast, but I always assumed she was one of those girls who woke up looking gorgeous.
Studying the girl across from me, I notice for the first time the hint of dark circles hiding beneath her concealer. Doing some quick math in my head, I calculate Stella can’t be getting more than four to six hours of sleep each night. Even for a fitness guru/time management genius, that seems a little extreme. The only reason someone remains conscious for twenty hours a day is if there’s something in their unconscious keeping them awake.
An uncomfortable question suddenly hits me: How well do I really know my roommate?
Shaking away the unsettling thought, I lean over to give Stella a hug. Before I can let go, she pulls me close and whispers in my ear.
“You’re my sister, Lou. And family doesn’t abandon family.”
Wes
Operation Build Trip Tolerance got put on hold when first semester decided to ambush me behind an alley and beat me to a pulp. I would say I’m speaking in metaphors, but my brain tissue is still in recovery.
Whenever someone congratulated me on the varsity status, I assumed they were impressed with my ability to make it on the team. Turns out, they were congratulating me on willingly signing up for a juggling act that only gets worse with each passing week.
Scheduling master, I am not.