Well, it’s finally here. Week Two. I attended just enough class to know which professor is serious about attendance policies. I’ve dropped all my 8 a.m.s, 10 a.m.s, and 12 p.m.s. It’s finally time to be true to myself: I can start skipping my classes again.
At this point in the quarter, all my excuses for missing class are fresh, and I have a wealth of grandparents’ deaths to lie about. Grandma Bobbi? Dead. Professor? Guilted. Extension? Granted. I’m not doing any of that Zoom shit, either. (My dog ate my laptop and wifi router.)
Be real: no one is studying anyway. D’s get degrees, as they say. Going to class is just an excuse to get dressed up and spend $6 on mid-ass Kerkhoff coffee. Once everyone else gives up at midterms and starts wearing sweatpants to campus, the veneer of student life will fall, and you’ll all come to accept your true, class-skipping selves, just like me.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more mask. I’ve already set a pattern of being 20 minutes late to every class I’m enrolled in, so no one will notice once I disappear completely. I hope my professors can understand that deep down, this is who I’ve always been. I can’t wait for next week, where I stop trying to convince myself to read the lecture slides.
