My Fitbit buzzed angrily for the third time in three hours, reminding me to "take a stroll."
I think my Fitbit pleads ignorance from my wrist, conveniently ignoring my open psychology textbook, laptop with a thousand tabs open, notebooks and half-finished Starbucks cup on the table. In his little battery-operated mind, my Fitbit cannot understand that finals are looming. He can't understand how I physically must remain at this table to finish everything I have to do. He can't understand how, for a majority of my classes, the level and intensity of work only increases as we near the end of the semester.
My demanding academic workload (I'm never taking 19 credit hours again) presents me with a bittersweet mix of just wanting to go home, interwoven with the undeniable fact that I'm going to miss being here. Granted, it was 36 degrees this morning and it doesn't feel like sunshine and vacation reside in the near future, but the reality is, we're almost done.
Cue finals season, when the entire student population perpetually waits in endless Starbucks lines to grab their caffeine fixes and ignores their own Fitbits urging them to ditch their books and move..
The last month of school is marked by several fairly typical behaviors. There's usually an extra credit scramble to secure better grades and alleviate some finals stress. I spent my last Friday, which began freezing cold and morphed into a gorgeous day, sitting in a psychology lecture for nearly two hours. For two points of extra credit.
For others, it's finally time to locate that unopened textbook gathering dust and read a couple pages. Everyone has the best intentions during the first few weeks of the semester -- taking diligent notes and promising this dedication won't be a temporary habit (despite knowing they're lying to themselves).
Or perhaps it's that last-ditch effort to really pay attention in class and participate. Or maybe not, if you're like the guy in my geology class who epitomized such perfect back-row behavior last week, I had to admire it. His headphones were plugged into an open laptop, playing "Walking Dead," while a bag of freshly-made microwave popcorn rested next to his screen.
Summer gleams ahead of us, a postcard we all want but can't have right now. Before we get there, we've all got papers, projects and presentations galore, requiring our full attention. Despite a mile-long to-do list, my Fitbit obstinately begs me to exercise. Unfortunately for him (and me), my Sunday consisted of several hours sitting at a table, typing. I hit my highest step count around 6 p.m., when I switched tables to charge my laptop.
Later, my friend stopped by Armstrong to review our research papers just as that blessing of a bracelet buzzed yet again. He'll never learn.