Dub. Dub. 

I’ve heard theories about mortality that limit the number of beats our hearts can handle in a lifetime.

Before I committed to taking this exam, my mother would nag me daily about wasting my day lounging in front of the TV, precious time that could be better spent studying. These days, the nagging is gone; in fact, she has even been acting unusually nice to me lately. Yet, my life swapped one nagger for another, and this one a hundred times more pernicious:

My self.

My body tells me to take it slow. My head grows dizzy after studying for hours straight on little sleep. Meanwhile, every beat of my heart throws on a new bout of guilt. While driving my brother to his doctor appointment I am calculating how many hours I’ve studied today and how many more hours are left in the day. My stomach suppresses my appetite such that I realize it’s 9PM and I’ve survived the whole day on coffee. 

But it’s affecting my performance. The more practice I do, the more questions I miss. The more questions I miss, the more frustrated I become, and the more questions I miss. 

So what if the test is in a week? I am officially declaring a break for the day. No more thinking about the MCAT. (OK, declaring a break as soon as I finish the practice book tomorrow morning, but then I promise I will really take a break).