I’m not allowed to say the F-Word

Finals.

Also known as the worst part of the semester for all students, especially law students. For the next two weeks, I’ll be incredibly cranky, color coding, outlining, crying, eating, crying, eating, crying, studying, eating, crying, and cranky. Did I mention crying?

reading

Most law school finals are worth 100% of the overall semester grade. Sorry undergrads but do NOT complain to law students about how you’re so stressed about your 15% open-book, 1 hour final.

Here’s how to appease the stressed out law student in your life:
1. If it’s 3 AM and they’re just coming home, don’t assume that they met somebody else. Assume they’ve been in the library, surviving off vending machine snacks, and memorizing everything about a closed corporation.
2. Don’t yell at them for not doing chores around the house.
3. Don’t look at them straight in the eyes. You won’t see a soul. You won’t remember the person you fell in love with. All you’ll see is a soul less ginger-esque madman in the clothes she wore yesterday, no makeup, and black under eye circles staring back at you.
4. If it’s 11:30 PM and she leaves to go back to school, don’t be offended. It’s not you, it’s law school.
5. Don’t judge if they’re eating taco bell fourth meal at 2 AM. Also, don’t be upset if they forget your taco bell order. Too much labor law, not enough room for tacos. (although if they do this during the regular school year, kick that person to the curb for not respecting you! You deserve those crunchwrap supremes! You are Taco Belle!)
6. Try bringing their favorite foods/drinks home from the grocery store. It’s hard feeling stupid all the time, but knowing that somebody cares enough about you to give you your ultimate favorite snack is the best pickmeup.
7. Don’t ask about grades. Don’t ask how they did. Don’t ask anything about law school. Don’t talk about it. It never happened. Finals are equivalent to childbirth. Nobody wants to know the gritty, gross, poop-filled details, just that everything was successful.

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