Here we are again. The twilight of the fall semester. If you’re like me, you stopped genuinely caring about school sometime around Oct. 1 and faked it with flying colors up until Thanksgiving break. But then, well, Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving day, for me, is about as close as one can get to a one-day allegory of the finest a fall semesters at college has to offer.

I wake up well-rested for the first time in weeks, ready to take on the day. Good things in store, I happily get ready for the feast. I’m ready to go. Food coming, I eat a small breakfast (First week homework? No problem, I could do this all year.)

The waiting is the worst part. I could eat a heavyweight TKO in two bites, but I hold off because I know the turkey’s coming (I’m knocking down assignment after assignment. Staying on top of it because I know midterms have to come sometime.)

Then, the action starts all at once. It’s time to go see my girlfriend’s parents before rushing back to my dinner before rushing back to her dinner. No problem, though. I’m hungry and staying busy. Busy is ready. That turkey is sounding better and better. (I’m studied up, bring on the midterms.)

But when I show up at her house, they’re setting the table. And the smell draws me to the kitchen. This wasn’t in the plan. We’re eating now? But we’re eating later! Both, apparently. (Midterms week. You thought there was one. You were ready for one, maybe two. But three?)

Well, here I am, and this is not cooking you say no to. Those fluffy mashed potatoes may well have floated right up out of the bowl and down the hatch whether I asked for them or not.

Moderation and measure are the name of the game now. (Early finals week, three to go.) I can only fit so much, so I measure it out. My sad little portions don’t fill the plate, and there’s no winning. I eat seconds, and maybe thirds, and then it’s time to go again.

I have 20 minutes to digest a Thanksgiving dinner then start eating another one, and I’m driving. I swerve into the margin twice as I mentally will the food through my stomach, but there’s no time. That’s alright, I’ve passed the first final with flying colors. The hosts were happy, my stomach was happy, it was all fine and good until prime rib.

Prime rib, that one question on exam number two you knew might be there but didn’t think of while you were cramming for that first exam. Do you answer it, painfully, slowly eating up the little time you have for the other questions? Do you skip it and take what you can get from the rest of the exam (buffet)? Or do you shoot for both? I went for both. Prime rib, mashed potatoes (not as good as the homemade ones) and gravy. I’m stuffed, but I did it. Two dinners, two happy families and just in time for dessert. Oh.

I always fail the third final. I get out of my chair and mosey to the car and off to a friend’s house for dessert, which turns out to be Bailey’s on ice. A forgiving dessert if ever there was one, but I duck out early with the hopes of finding something flat and soft enough to nap on for an hour or six.

Laying on the couch back home mid-way through Thanksgiving break, dozing in and out of gravy dreams, I can’t imagine a better day (semester) of all-American gluttony (academic effort). As the meals go down and the bloating turns to satisfaction and then hunger, I wake up with a start. It’s 9 p.m. (Sunday night) and I didn’t bring any leftovers home (haven’t started any of my final projects).

I stand up for a moment, trying to summon the effort to go to the kitchen, then turn away.

I’ve been holding it in all day.

-Taylor Dobbs can be reached at [email protected]