9 Days

Nine days until I sit down in a room and take the most important test of my life. A test that will decide whether or not I am able to continue to learn about things that I love to lead to a career that I find to be magical and rewarding. This is what I have been dreaming of for the last 5 years.

I wake up at 6:30am. I get ready for work. I shower to wash away the smell of sweat that has come from the lack of cooling in my apartment. I walk the half hour to work while I eat a bagel. I work for 4 or 5 hours and take a lunch break, through which I study for the MCAT. I work for another 3 or 4 hours. Some days I walk home and other days I walk to class. I go home where I have two roommates that refuse to do their dishes and another who has a boyfriend that doesn't leave until I go to bed, their bubble keeping me from one room or another. I'm exhausted. And yet if I don't agree to hang out with someone I'm bombarded with questions about why I don't like them, why I'm mean to them, why I don't make time for them. Seriously? You know what I want to do right now? Cry. Except I can't because the roommate with the boyfriend is in the kitchen, a straight shot from my position in the living room, and if I go to my room it's so hot that my tears need to be used for sweat instead. Not to mention if I cry I can't see the words in the many chapters of science I still have to learn in the next nine days. Half a book of physics, half a book of bio. Plus review of acid/base chemistry, electrochemistry and the memorization of organic chem reactions and physics equations/constants. I am losing it.

Seriously? Seriously. I am not a bad person. I am freaking stressed out. Because the last thing I want to be doing with my summer vacation is studying science. And because there is so much for me to remember in the next 9 days. Seriously. I have more fingers than I do days until I take the MCAT. For once, can't my supposed *itchiness be excused? Because the only thing holding me together right now is nothing but the possibility of more stress. Bake for me. Offer to do my dishes. Give me a ride to or from work. But do not get mad at me because I have declined your request to hang out with you, knowing it'll be hours and I'll be asleep by the time I get home, and when I've been accepting your requests all along knowing that I shouldn't. I love you. But give me a break. Because I'm already feeling guilty and like it was a bad idea to take the last ten minutes to write this blog post. It's not yet 10pm. My eyes have long been heavy from wanting to sleep.

Nine. More. Days.