During our sophomore year, a friend made an observation about us that rang disturbingly true: we love to talk about terms.
We would like to think it's not just us, but a tendency shared by many at Dartmouth. With people constantly cycling on and off, each quarter feels like a new year distinct, special and full of the potential to do what we failed to last time around. Admittedly, we may take it a step further than the rest. We find ourselves ranking terms: freshman fall is at the top closely followed by nothing, with junior spring disqualified for foul play. We define terms by their vibes, the songs we listened to and the amount of time we spent flailing or flying through them. We have foolishly predicted the "next term" would be the "best ever" at the end of every quarter. So far we have been wrong each time. None have conquered 10F. 11W was a term of complaining and emerging from our dorms only to participate in intramural ice hockey. 11S was straight bliss. 11X saw Amanda working a real internship and Seanie nurturing the baby pigeon nested outside the window by her cubicle.
If terms were sandwiches (just go with it), by this point of 13F, there would be half left. We'd be content with the first half we'd already eaten, yet we would be left with a bit of an appetite. So before we start in on the last, we will reflect on sandwiches past:
Seanie: After prospective students' weekend, a '13 I had just met posted a single instruction on my Facebook wall: "Look forward to 10F." Intrigued, I googled this "10F" and found an online community for "Star Trek," "Star Wars" and "Lord of the Rings" fans. I was thrilled to be among my own, until I searched Dartmouth and got no results. I returned to Google, this time involving such terms as "Dartmouth 10F," "Hanover 10F," "college 10F," "what is 10F," and "10F urban dictionary." It would not be the first time I looked up a slang term whose meaning I should have known by my age.
In my search, I found several results that referenced the cryptic "10F" in ways that only exacerbated my state of confusion. I lived in this state for four months. I could not "look forward to 10F." I wouldn't know a 10F if I were hit in the face with it. Finally on campus, my trip leader used the term, and I nodded knowingly. I continued to nod knowingly about nearly everything throughout that term, similar to the way I currently nod knowingly at the phrases "resume drop" and "government shutdown."
Two years later, however, I would find myself using the term "13S" in a meeting at my first pigeonless internship. Turns out new habits die almost as hard as old ones.
Amanda: Alarms fail me. This has not always been true, but it is for 13F. Sleep Cycle, the only iPhone app I have ever paid for, also failed. There is one thing that has not: my mother.
After alerting her earlier this week that waking up on time for class proved troublesome for me, she agreed to help.
At 9:30 the following morning, my phone started to ring. I looked over, saw it was "Mom" calling, silenced it and continued to sleep. It rang again. I repeated the process. Then it happened again, and I knew there was only one way to put an end to it. I took the call, promised my cheerful mother that I was indeed rising and shining, hung up and happily went back to sleep.
Then she called. Again. Because she knew. She always knows.
"Get up. Now."
I did. In fact, I made it to class on time every day this week. When I shared this success with a friend, she congratulated me. When I explained to her the methods behind my success, she rescinded her congratulations with the statement: "Amanda, that is unacceptable."
Five weeks in and five weeks left, life is hitting us out of nowhere like the monsoon we experienced in week four when our windows were open. Combined, we are out one pillow, two socks, one radio clock and a phone charger. Amanda learned that despite what she was told growing up, only one space, not two, follows the period at the end of a sentence. Seanie learned that "anyways" is not a real word.
We also realized that we have mentioned animals and/or insects weekly, a fact that neither disturbs nor pleases us greatly.
We hope you are enjoying your sandwiches.
Yours,
Lucy & Ethel
