Dear diary,
All good things must come to an end like my brief, shining moment of joy over my marks in discourse analysis. It was beautiful… fleeting… like a firework… or my will to live during finals season.
Now, on to French the so-called language of love. But if that’s true, then love has clearly ghosted me. Or maybe it’s just the professor
let’s call her Madame Finalement, Critics call her terrifying.
Her former students call her a walking plot twist.
She calls it… pedagogy.
Madame Finalement has taken a blood oath to ruin my GPA.
She graciously emailed me: “If you’re not going to study for the final, drop the course.” I mean… is that a threat? A motivational quote? A cry for help? Either way, I felt it in my soul.
And so I march forward, armed with my slowly crumbling self-esteem and a half-functioning Duolingo streak. Will I make it? Will I survive? Who knows? But one thing’s for sure: je suis très tired.
This spring, prepare for a final that is so intense, it comes with required readings and existential dread and a full breakdown at 2 a.m.
And don’t forget to grab a front-row seat to the drama of the season:
Madame Finalement: The Language of Vengeance
Only at my university. Can’t wait to see you there. Popcorn’s on me—if I pass.