(aka: The Hunger Games, but with more coffee and less mercy)

Finals week at Hopkins descends on all of us. Like a dense fog of stress and caffeine, it creeps into every hallway, study room, and group chat. Suddenly, everyone’s wearing the same uniform: hoodie, sweatpants, and a look that says, “I haven’t known peace in 72 hours.”

It starts subtly. The libraries get a little fuller. The lines at Brody Café get a little longer. Then suddenly… BOOM it’s full-on academic apocalypse. People are camped out in Annex like it’s a natural disaster shelter. Outlets are sacred territory. Eye contact is avoided. You hear whispers in the stacks: “He’s been in the same seat since Thursday…”

Sleep becomes a suggestion, not a requirement. Meals are replaced with protein bars, energy drinks, and the occasional sad banana. Time stops making sense. Is it 3 p.m.? 3 a.m.? No one knows. No one asks.

Every conversation begins with “How are finals?” and ends with a nervous laugh or a deep existential sigh. Friends become study partners, and study partners become co-survivors in the war against cumulative exams.

You start bargaining with your GPA like it’s a shady landlord.
“Okay, if I just get a 78.3 on this final, I can still get a B+. Right? RIGHT?”

At some point, you forget what your major is. Or your name. Or how to form a complete sentence. All you know is that there’s another exam, another paper, another Google Doc titled “FINAL FINAL STUDY GUIDE (REAL ONE).”

And yet, weirdly, there’s something kind of beautiful about it. Everyone is in it together. People share notes. They bring each other coffee. They say things like, “You’ve got this,” even when you absolutely do not “got this.”

And eventually, it ends. You turn in your last paper. You click submit. You emerge from the depths of the library blinking like a newborn deer.

And just like that, the campus exhales. People nap like they’re in a coma. The sun comes out. You remember what it’s like to feel feelings again.

Finals week at Hopkins is brutal. Unrelenting. Kinda gross. But it’s also a rite of passage — proof that you survived the madness, and maybe even learned something in the process.

(Probably. You’ll remember after a nap.)