AP Exams are over. Busy work will henceforth reign supreme. My graduation robe has been staring me down for the past few weeks as it hangs on my closet door. I learned that there is no good way to wear a mortarboard without looking ridiculous. Classes are progressively more boring. I'm supposed to be doing actual work right now. I check my graduation countdown 17.36 times a day on average.
I have made a diagnosis. I am suffering from acute inflammation of the senior, better known as "Senioritis."
It is a feeling that develops between February and May of your senior year of high school. You may claim to have senioritis before then, but it is not true senioritis. True senioritis is when you have been accepted to college and are mentally checking out of high school. True senioritis is when AP exams are over and you know that you have 30 days of busy work separating you from the all important diploma. True senioritis is an utter lack of motivation to do said busy work. True senioritis is a malcontent and longing for action so strong that you become incapacitated and end up watching 6 episodes of Breaking Bad on Netflix in one evening.
Senioritis is a limbo. I am so close to summer that I can taste the sunscreen. I am removed from the petty concerns of high school. I am tired of assignments that have to be given so teachers can pretend they were doing something productive for the lat month of school. Heck, I even wore athletic shorts and t-shirts for two straight weeks. Senioritis is a serious condition.
I've had ample time to reflect on my high school career: what I did wrong, what I did right, and what I can improve. I've got such wild dreams about college that I'm sure I'll experience a slight twinge of disappointment when I arrive. I've perused my university's list of activities and organizations. I've looked at the events going on in my new home city this autumn. I've even started boxing up the mementos of childhood that collect dust in my room.
There are less than 100 days until I move out. Honestly, as excited as I am, there is some apprehension. I've never been away from home on my own for more than one week at a time - how will I do living in a different state for 10 months? Will I quickly become adjusted? Will I cry myself to sleep for a month because I'm homesick?
I realize that I've never actually had to be independent. Sure, I've had independence of thought, but my parents have always paid bills, and fixed any major problems. I'll actually have to budget. I'll have to manage my diet, my bank account, my sleep schedule, my study time. I'll have to move out of my NYC studio apartment sized bedroom to a 500 square foot room I share with someone else. I'll have to use a communal bathroom. The horror.
I have made a diagnosis. I am suffering from acute inflammation of the senior, better known as "Senioritis."
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| This is entirely accurate |
It is a feeling that develops between February and May of your senior year of high school. You may claim to have senioritis before then, but it is not true senioritis. True senioritis is when you have been accepted to college and are mentally checking out of high school. True senioritis is when AP exams are over and you know that you have 30 days of busy work separating you from the all important diploma. True senioritis is an utter lack of motivation to do said busy work. True senioritis is a malcontent and longing for action so strong that you become incapacitated and end up watching 6 episodes of Breaking Bad on Netflix in one evening.
Senioritis is a limbo. I am so close to summer that I can taste the sunscreen. I am removed from the petty concerns of high school. I am tired of assignments that have to be given so teachers can pretend they were doing something productive for the lat month of school. Heck, I even wore athletic shorts and t-shirts for two straight weeks. Senioritis is a serious condition.
I've had ample time to reflect on my high school career: what I did wrong, what I did right, and what I can improve. I've got such wild dreams about college that I'm sure I'll experience a slight twinge of disappointment when I arrive. I've perused my university's list of activities and organizations. I've looked at the events going on in my new home city this autumn. I've even started boxing up the mementos of childhood that collect dust in my room.
There are less than 100 days until I move out. Honestly, as excited as I am, there is some apprehension. I've never been away from home on my own for more than one week at a time - how will I do living in a different state for 10 months? Will I quickly become adjusted? Will I cry myself to sleep for a month because I'm homesick?
 |
| Ha! I never cry! |
I realize that I've never actually had to be independent. Sure, I've had independence of thought, but my parents have always paid bills, and fixed any major problems. I'll actually have to budget. I'll have to manage my diet, my bank account, my sleep schedule, my study time. I'll have to move out of my NYC studio apartment sized bedroom to a 500 square foot room I share with someone else. I'll have to use a communal bathroom. The horror.
I don't always think I'm ready, but I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I am malcontent and restless in this phase of my life - it is time to move on.
Furman University, I'm on my way!
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