It’s a well-known fact that 112 per cent of students struggle to find the raw internal motivation to get up each day. And when that day is six hours of classes, a shift at one of three part-time jobs and at least two Doom meetings, most emerging young (never going to be) professionals lack that essential fire. You know, the one that tells them a 40-minute bus ride and 15-minute walk to class in the rain is a gift, actually.

I tried everything — setting an alarm, eating breakfast, hitting the gym, drinking water once a week, eating a vegetable(!), walking seven per cent faster than my usual gait, waking up eight whole minutes before class! One night, I even went to bed before 4 a.m.

But nothing worked.

I was hopeless, helpless, struggling beyond measure. But that’s when I found a life hack that blessed me with the ability to hack away at everything I hated from my old life. You’ve been ditched, bitch (me from last week), sliced and diced.

I started eating my own homework.

Some amateurs let their dogs eat their homework, but why let your dog absorb that knowledge when you can instead? Sheets upon sheets going to waste in ungrateful puppy stomachs.

Ever heard of osmosis? I have, because I ate my biology notes.

By channeling the energy of a mighty dog and consuming the vast wealth of knowledge in my 20-page pre-class worksheets (for participation, but also marked and worth 30 per cent of my grade), I have become a new woman — bold, fierce, barking.

It’s a lifestyle. Now, I get out of bed to eat my homework. Complete or not, it doesn’t matter. If it’s covered in human teeth marks and slobber, TAs will wag their tails, roll over and give me all the extensions I want, no questions asked. There’s something about a gnawed-up novel that just screams “not worth it.”

The nutritional benefits are also off the charts. According to the nutritionist who quit their job after meeting me, the chemicals in the ink have been dying my brain’s grey matter even greyer.

And it doesn’t stop there — studies conducted by me, on me (sponsored by me and Mother Printers) found that eating homework folded into origami actually triples your gyri (that’s brain wrinkles if you’re stupid) in just a few weeks.

Calculus? No problem. An essay about something fake like “irony” or “metaphor?” Dawg, I got it, like, so totally on lock.

When Canadian hero and unproblematic motorist Just In Beaver said, “bigger, better, faster, stronger,” obviously in reference to me, he was right. My physical resilience is off the charts. Even the skin on my tongue has thickened, now immune to papercuts.

Evolution is real and happening right now. After training my digestive tract to break down any sort of paper (wood pulp, cotton, hemp, flax, jute) I now have the power to eat anything I want.

In an eat or get ate world, I eat.

Mentally and physically unconquerable, I didn’t think that activating that dawg in me could get any better. I’m awake, I’m alert and I’m only slightly preoccupied with thoughts of chasing squirrels around campus. With my lust for life and my intellect perpetually growing, I kept on hunting for greatness. Little did I know, I would find it in so many facets of life.

I call this final stage “dawg mode.”

Ever since eating my homework on the regular, I’ve become a hit with the ladies and the lads. As a raging (see: angry) bisexual, this is great.

I’m talking gentle caressing of the head, scratching behind the ear and being called a “good boy.”

People have even started gifting me little bites of their food. Sometimes, even whole slices of cheese. I don’t get it, but who am I to turn down free eats?

I find I have the most luck at night, usually when there’s a full moon — maybe something to do with the lighting?

As I always say, “woof woof woof arf bark grrrrr bark bark arrrrf aroooooooo! Bark! Bark! Bark!” And don’t you forget it.