With the semester done, papers handed in and the course evaluations completed, there remains one more thing that stands in your way: finals.

Regardless of what year or program you’re in, finals are the worst. Our concentration is so strained that the most basic of daily tasks seem overwhelming. Is the font of our review guide shrinking, or are my eyes closing from lack of sleep? The emotional rollercoaster that comes with exam season hits everyone hard, regardless of the height requirement.

First, you get nostalgic. You reminisce on your first day, all smiley and fresh-faced. Remember when you actually had time to watch Orange is the New Black?

But then you’ve fallen into a time warp, because suddenly the prof starts talking about finals. You start hyperventilating, wondering if you were actually in lecture or if you were stuck on your couch for 13 weeks. Nothing looks familiar in your syllabus. Theory of relativity? Linear algebra? WHAT? Why did I ever think that Ruby Rose was going to be on the final??

This causes you to question your life path. You begin to have an existential crisis, having intense inner dialogue running through your mind as you sit on the 145. “Why did I take poli sci? Did I think that I was going to be a politician? Why are politicians such lowlifes? Do politicians care about transit? Do politicians even take transit? Why does the 145 go so slow? Why are we stuck in traffic? Why are there so many people on this bus? WHY?!?!”

You then reassure yourself that you’re on the right track. You pat yourself on the back for all your achievements, like that one time you made your TA laugh with a punny joke. You tell yourself that what you’re doing is awesome.

But even puns can’t save your ship from sinking, as you fall deeper into your emotions. Suddenly there is an entire aisle of Mac’s convenience store supplies in your room as you eat your way into submission. You read your notes to the point where nothing makes sense anymore. You’re simultaneously hopeless and extremely pissed off at the fact that you’re technically directly paying for this stress via your tuition. By the time night falls, you’re drafting a backup plan of dropping out and becoming the next Steve Jobs.

Then comes the morning of. You had a night filled with dreams of logarithms and Sigmund Freud. You say to yourself, “I can do it.” The Rocky theme song plays in your mind as you walk to the gym to write the exam. And you write until the very end, dropping the mic — er, exam — on the table as you leave.

A wise man once said to “Just do it.” So ace those exams and kick ass. Don’t let your dreams of getting those A’s be dreams.