Finals

I taught my last class of the semester today. Whoo. Now begins the parade of "Kristen-teach me everything that you taught the class because I wasn't there" e-mails. Except that every other word will be misspelled.

For the end of the semester, I'm doing quite well. I went over to a friend's house on Friday for a bit, went out on a date with my husband on Saturday night, and saw my brother Sunday morning. Not bad for finals!

I wonder, though, when did I become a time-management machine?

I haven't pulled an all-nighter in years, and it's strange!

Most of it comes down to my professional roles, I think. As an undergrad, I would show up for my classes looking Undead the week before finals. I wore lots of sweatpants, didn't shower daily, and kept massive amounts of caffeine coursing through my blood. I studied standing under lightposts and muttered to myself as I scuttled about campus.

All that has changed. I have to support my clients who are themselves disheveled, exhausted, and overly caffeinated. I have to knowingly suggest to my students that they should eat well and get lots of sleep. I feel too responsible for other people's well-being to not get enough sleep.

Honestly - and perhaps this is masochistic - I miss the frantic pyjama-clad nights, sitting up with friends trying to cram knowledge into our heads while drinking pots of coffee. I miss writing the names of psychologists on various foodstuff that we had strangely come to believe represented that thinker's works. I even miss my misguided escapades with No-Doz (I used it a lot in high school, but by college it did nothing but make my ears ring.)

So, yesterday, working on my dissertation proposal, I changed into pyjamas, mussed up my hair, and chugged some coffee. Just for old time's sake.