Amy Chubb: On why Week Ten is the worst

It has hit us all like a freight train. Dark before 4pm. Money slowly frittering away on ball tickets and late night Tesco runs. DROWNING IN A DARK HOLE OF DEADLINES. So Week Ten, all I have to say is this: go away.

Why is it that this is the week where all St Andreans have flocked to social media with a plethora of complaints and woes about their lives? I’ve seen more whining about essays/single life/lack of pizza etc. than ever before, and we haven’t even hit revision period yet.

For some reason I have also found myself stuck in this fiery limbo where the only thing I have to do is cry in the library (no seriously, shout out to my buddy who made me tear up on the first floor) before trudging home in the rain. I can’t count the amount of times I have prayed for this week to be over, for it to just be Friday, for it to be next weekend so I can dance my socks off at the St Andrews and Christmas Balls!

…alas. Here I am, surrounded by my cohort of equally po-faced, essay-ridden friends. Crisp packets and sweet wrappers litter our table in the library like the shredded pieces of our souls, and the word “pub?” has been desperately suggested at least three times. I know we aren’t alone because I literally had a five minute conversation with a stranger at the vending machine, contemplating the difficulties of choosing a chocolate bar at this challenging time. Collectively, the whole of St Andrews is internally struggling.

The only thing we can do is push on together: proof read your friend’s essay for them and smile weakly even if it sucks, buy your flatmate a bottle of wine just because (hint hint), or just go and cuddle a random in the library if they look miserable. Because the main thing to remember is that Christmas is just around the corner, which means that it’s totally acceptable to do your essay on Margaret Thatcher in candlelight whilst drinking mulled wine. Or is that just me?