Finals Week Focus

I’m sitting in the library, third floor, corner desk by the window. My calculus notes are spread out in front of me—pages and pages of derivatives, integrals, limits, all of it. I’ve been grinding for days. Practice problems until my hand cramped. YouTube tutorials at 2 AM. Study groups where we argued about chain rules and optimization problems until we finally got it right.

Finals week is brutal, but I’m ready. I’ve put in the work. I can feel it. That confidence that comes from actually knowing your stuff, not just hoping you’ll remember it when you see it on the test. I’ve earned this feeling.

And honestly? I’m grateful. Not just for the studying paying off, but for everything. For having the opportunity to be here, to push myself, to work toward something that matters. It’s easy to lose sight of that when you’re buried in textbooks and running on coffee, but right now, in this moment, I feel it.

I pack up my stuff and head to my next class. The hallway is packed—everyone’s in that finals week hustle, moving fast, stressed out, clutching their laptops and energy drinks. I duck into the bathroom between buildings, just a quick stop before I have to sit through another lecture.

And that’s when it happens. I’m standing there at the urinal, and my stomach does that familiar thing. I let it rip. A good one. Echoes off the tile walls. I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Mitchell,” I say out loud, naming it. Because of course I do.

I don’t know why my brain does this, but every time I fart lately, I think about him. Maybe it’s because he’s been on my mind a lot. Mitchell and his new life. His closet stocked with Pampers. Lion King Little Movers—I remember him showing me the package, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. And the formula. Every hour, on the hour. He’s committed. He’s living exactly the life he wants.

And he’s happy. Like, truly happy. I can see it every time we talk. There’s this lightness to him now, this peace that wasn’t there before. He’s not pretending to be someone he’s not. He’s not forcing himself into a mold that doesn’t fit. He’s just… himself. Fully, unapologetically himself.

I wash my hands, look at myself in the mirror for a second. Finals week face—tired eyes, messy hair, but determined. I’ve got this. One more class, then the calculus final tomorrow morning. I’ve studied hard. I’m prepared.

And I’m grateful. Grateful for the chance to be here, to work toward my goals. Grateful for friends like Mitchell who remind me that happiness looks different for everyone, and that’s okay. Actually, it’s more than okay. It’s beautiful.

I head out of the bathroom, back into the crowded hallway, ready for whatever comes next.

Let’s finish this.