My Relationship with the University of Chicago

The University of Chicago.

How I love thee.

How I hate thee.

You’ve given me new friends, new opportunities, an excellent (and affordable!) education, and an atmosphere where I (mostly) feel free to be my cynical, strange self.

But you’ve also given me stress (insane amounts of it), intellectual insecurity, and plenty of gray hairs.

And, as I only half joke, you’ve taken away my soul with your fucking intense workload and the constant sense of crushing failure.

Seriously, before you, I used to be driven and care about my grades (as in I would freak out if I got anything less than an A on ANYTHING). After all, that is how I got accepted by you. After you, though, I have become a slacker (well, as much of a slacker as you can be at UChicago) and am glad when I get anything above a 50% on, well, anything.

You’ve even taken away my ability to evoke emotion with my voice!

Okay, just kidding with that last one. I’ve always spoken in a lifeless monotone.

But do I regret coming here?

Not at all.

Yes, your Common Core sucks ass and your math (what I want to major in) classes are fucking impossible, but honestly, I like you.

Fuck you, UChicago, (with love).