The Captain’s Log Archives: One Man’s Journey through the Wicked Seas of Finals.

Twice a year during finals week my alter ego resurfaces.  His name is Captain Bartholomew Roberts.  These are his stories.


Spring Finals 2014

Captain’s Log: May the Twelfth

This afternoon we were attacked by a ravenous monster.  Seventy eyes each needing to be perfectly filled with a #2 Ticonderoga.  I remember a mere week ago I was sitting below deck with my crew mates joyously singing yo ho, yo ho... It is evident I did not fully appreciate those moments.  The light on the table blinds me.  A blurry, unrecognizable face stares at me.  "Do you understand now?", "Have I helped explain that at all?".  I snap back to reality offering a silent nod to appease their questioning eyes.  I can only think of the storm to come.  A rumble in the air and in my stomach reminds me that much time has passed since I've been seated here glowering at textbooks and loose leafed paper that has been  scribbled on haphazardly with no semblance of order.  I make a quiet plea to the gods that my exhaustion might disappear.  At once I'm back inside the memory of the monster.  A flash of razor sharp lead carving into each eye.   It's boney spine and prickly teeth took all hope we had.  And as my crew gave in under the pressure of the beast its knifelike edge sliced my thumb drawing blood.  Head down and with force I attempted to finish it off.  After each of the seventy eyes had been cleaved, I emerged breathless and defeated.

Fall Finals 2013

Captain’s Log: December the Tenth

I long for the days when I can begin an entry with delightfully pleasant niceties, "Oh what a joyous week this is, how grateful I am that the gods should bless us with such smooth, serene weather." But I shall not.  Oh what sorrow! What dread!During these vehement waves of emotion and french verb conjugations, I cry as whipping winds of theory and ethics with a cold, blistering hand slap me across my face.  The storm ensues. In a moment I'm mercilessly thrown overboard.  Being pushed under by these vicious waves I cry out but no one can hear me.  I hear shouts from above, "Ren, let's study together, Ren... Ren?" They repeat.  But it's no use.  I'm under the weighted water of papers. papers. papers. My head is reeling when I come up for air.  Above me the stars mock my slim chance of survival.  They have big plans to break me in every possible way on Thursday at 10:10am.  Dizzy and tired, I heave up onto the deck and make it to my bed.  Episodes of New Girl and Doctor Who the only source of relieve from the stress. I fold into the fetal position and cry thinking of dropping my major? I look up and ask again, what shall become of me?

Spring Finals 2013

Captain’s Log: May the Fourth

So it commences. Finals week is among us as a wolf to his fresh kill. The consequences of my procrastination throughout this menacing term are seizing me with clenched jaws.  I suffer with the knowledge that I could have paid myself a curtesy by studying earlier.  I look up, around myself are the glowering faces that can only be experienced by the University of Montana society.  What is to become of me? Shall I excel or merely pass my required tests? God save us all.

Fall Finals 2012

Captain’s Log: December the Fourth

[...] the beginnings of finals are among us again.  It seems every time we let our guard down they engulf us as a tiger shark would to a school of tuna.  I've forgotten what the sun looks like inside this place.  The faces of my crew and those I hardly even know are forced into a stern glare which will not be removed until this hellish week is past us.  I've heard tell of horrible stories, where one feels as though it is never ending.   They awake in the midst of slumber with terror certain they've another paper. Not one of them has even begun to formulate a thesis statement.  I sit with my coffee and vanilla wafers thankful for the sustenance they provide for only $3.85.  What pray tell am I to do? Whatever shall become of me ?

 Summer Session

Captain’s Log: June -27-…28; Late night/early morning

I must write and perform a speech tomorrow to the rest of my crew mates. This fact troubles be as I haven't a clue what it shall be on. I fear, as I sit here on Facebook, a storm awaits me. Perhaps a stroke of genius is in store for me tomorrow 'morn. Yet I surely doubt it. The tumultuous noise of the automatic cooling device reminds me of the storm ahead, grumbling as though he's hungry to chew me up and spit me out. Why do you grumble at me AC? Are you not settled? Or is it that you have a speech tomorrow too?

Spring Finals 2012

Captain’s Log: May the Sixth

We hit stormy seas these past nights.  I cling to the knowledge that this downpour will cease in just the  passing of one or two more days.  I gaze outside. Summer is a welcomed thought. Day in and day out I yearn for the continuous warm weather, star gazing and a cold ale with my fellow goodmen. Until then, I wake each morn' with a smile and a whisper of hope. Just this morn' i awoke from my slumber and broke my fast with some frozen delights from U-Swirl. Verily, it is so.

I will go down