second semester blues

I already know I’m going to fail. She told us our test would be today, and she told us two days ago. I know two out of thirty definitions, one out of ten diagrams, and I already know I’m going to fail. I’m in history class now, drinking Starbucks and ignoring the professor, falling into the same spring crisis I always fall into once Valentine’s Day has come and gone.

I never have liked spring. Everyone is looking toward summer and we all have subconsciously said our goodbyes. We’re all only halfway here. In winter, life is sedentary and we’ve prepared ourselves for the second semester that is seemingly unending. Spring is the end of the long run, the end of the never-ending, and the season of too many changes happening too fast. And so here I am, in this dull room lit up with flickering florescent lights, pretending to listen to a lecture about Teddy Roosevelt, all-too aware of the dismal future that lies ahead.

By “the dismal future” I mean the biology test next hour that I already know I’m going to fail. She drops the lowest test grade, and that thought gives me more comfort than it should. I had assumed that I’d save that lowest test grade for my last test of the semester – perhaps not show up for it or write something witty or turn it in blank with just my name at the top. Alas, here I am before only my second biology test of the semester, already knowing that I am going to fail. Already knowing that the rest of the semester will be a flurry of me paying an unusual amount of attention in biology, because my lowest test grade is in the books and I have to do well from here on out.

The same spring crisis I always fall into once Valentine’s Day has come and gone. Convincing myself that I’m trying my best as I watch New Girl and pretend to study, shrugging when I fail a test, telling myself it’s not a big deal. Telling myself I’ll make up for it later, and then report cards come out and I wonder why it seems that later never came. It didn’t seem like a big deal in high school, as I barely made it through four years of tests covered in red ink. It didn’t seem like a big deal because I thought that I would fail, even if I really did try. It didn’t seem like a big deal, because I believed that I was stupid.

Well, I guess I’m not stupid. I decided to try last semester and I had a 4.0 GPA. I’m still trying this semester and I’ve scored nothing lower than a B. So I guess, even though biology is just half an hour away and I already know I’m going to fail, I’m not stupid because even smart people fail when they don’t study. I guess, now that I know I’m not stupid, I can’t convince myself that I’m trying my best while I watch Modern Family and pretend to study. So the same spring crisis I always fall into once Valentine’s Day has come and gone can’t really happen this year, because I can’t use the “I’m bad at school” card if I get a bad grade. Because apparently I’m good at school, except when I don’t study, and I’m glad that my biology professor is going to drop this test because I already know I’m going to fail because I didn’t study. And I guess I should pay attention to my history professor in an effort to stay far, far away from that spring crisis I’m trying to avoid.