Dear Diary,
Hey. How are you?
Me? I’m… hanging in there. Barely.
I feel meh, mentally fried, and powered solely by anxiety. I’ve been running on fumes, and now even the fumes are asking for a break.
Oh, right the presentation.
You’re wondering how it went? Well, buckle up.
It actually went really well. Like, surprisingly well. But of course, our professor came in with her signature move: public roasting. She had something to criticize about everyone, including me and my poor teammate. My teammate had one wrong point on her slide, and I apparently didn’t elaborate enough on one point.
But THEN,and here's where the plot thickens, she actually praised us. Like, a compliment.
She said, and I quote, “This shows excellent teamwork.”We were the only group she actually complimented which, honestly, I think is a pretty solid compliment, right? Not to be cocky, but yeah… we were kind of the best.
How about grades ? no grades yet.
She said she’d send them by email, which is professor-speak for, “Let me hold your mental stability hostage for another 24-72 hours. I’m just praying she gives me at least a 9/10 because this presentation chewed me up and spit me out. I’ve never stressed this much over a single power point. EVER.
You remember my fear of gastric reflux?
Well, plot twist: no acid explosion, but my body is still rebelling. I skipped breakfast to avoid a reflux disaster, but by the final two lectures, I felt unbearable pain on the left side of my stomach and I was spiritually floating with Peter Pan in Neverland.
(I was asleep.)
My poor colleague a sweet, innocent angel kept trying to wake me with gentle butterfly grazes on my arm. I appreciated her efforts. But my brain was like, “Nope”. We’re taking a break from reality
Then came a five-minute break. I was barely holding it together, so I ran out and grabbed a bottle of water and a packaged chocolate croissant—the kind that’s full of preservatives.
I thought it’d give me a sugar boost.
Spoiler: it didn’t.
Nothing helped. I was still dead inside.
During the break, some of our classmates started asking the professor for their grades. He was dodging like a pro—just saying “Good,” “Very good,” “Excellent” without actually giving numbers.
Sir, this isn’t a talent show. Just tell us.
By the end of the lecture, I couldn’t take it anymore. I sweet-talked him, trying to sound like the most enthusiastic student to ever love his subject. He finally cracked and told me my mark was lower than my first research.
Excuse me?! Lower?!
My first research was an 18 out of 20.
What does “lower” even mean? 17? 16? Fifteen?!
If it’s 15, I’m going straight to a psychiatric ward and asking for a room with a view.
Then he asked if I used an AI tool. I told him no because I didn’t.
But apparently a bunch of my classmates did, and they’re even admitting it like it’s no big deal.
Honestly, I think that’s dumb. That’s plagiarism, and they could actually get penalized. I’m not an angel , but I’m not evil either. I don’t want them to fail, but come on. Be smarter than that.
If I get the same 15/20 I got in the midterm—after studying like my life depended on it—I might just scream into the void.
Like, if that’s what I get after studying, what would happen if I didn’t?
Anyway, I just hope it’s at least a 17/20.
I worked on that research a full week in advance. If I used AI, don’t you think I would’ve finished it in an hour and spent the rest of the time watching a new TV show?
The professor said not to worry—he’ll read my paper again.
Cool. But I’m not exactly confident it’s going to magically boost my score.
Please, God.
This semester is devouring my brain.
I can’t afford to mess this up.
I can’t disappoint my parents.
I just want to survive this academic nightmare
-your hot academic mess