11 Mar

From the day you’re a freshman in high school, you constantly hear seniors complaining about this mysterious affliction called “senioritis.” They claim that it makes them incapable of doing any work, that all they want to do is sit around and do nothing, that they’re exhausted from all their hard work, that they just can’t do it anymore. You think it’s just an excuse for their laziness. But in four short years, you find out that you were wrong.

Senioritis is real. Very, very real.

You don’t realize it, but it starts the moment you step through those front doors on the first day of your senior year. Okay, maybe the second day, because you still have that sudden burst of first-day-of-school energy even though it’s your twelfth first day. Fourteenth, actually if you went to Pre-K and Kindergarten.

Somehow, you make it through the first marking period all right, and everything seems fine. You’ve completed the stressful ordeal of completing college applications, and everything is back to normal.

But as soon as you get that first acceptance letter in the mail, something strange starts to happen. You no longer feel the drive to go to school every day; you were once neurotic about missing school due to sickness, but not anymore. You find yourself waking up later and later every day until all of a sudden, you find yourself waking up at 7:45, the exact time the first bell to release students rings. You stop doing homework at home and choose instead to complete it during first period the next day. Slowly, club meetings disappear from your radar. You forget about things you were supposed to do, like volunteer at the library for National Honor Society or bring in food for a class food day. You’ve perfected the art of procrastination and would rather stay up until two o’clock in the morning to do your AP Lit journals instead of work on them throughout the month. You can write a two-page essay in half an hour and still get an A. With every passing month, your age seems to regress and suddenly you find the word “tidbit” hilarious like you’re in first grade. Your brain slowly loses the ability to comprehend calculus, and you simply lose the desire to try. You suddenly possess this sense of apathy that you’ve never felt before.

The fourth and final marking period approaches. All of a sudden, you find yourself with a B in a class when you’ve never gotten a B on a report card in your life. You start to panic when you realize that you haven’t finished your service events for National Honor Society and logs are due on April 1st. Suddenly, it finally dawns on you that you are about to graduate. You have four more AP tests, maybe a few finals, and then you’re done. The rest of the year is filled with picnics, rehearsals, graduation, parties, and goodbyes. You realize that after this year, you might never see these people again. You don’t know when you’ll see your friends that you’ve known since first grade again once they goes to school in West Virginia and Massachusetts and Georgia and South Carolina and New York and you stay in Maryland, albeit on the other side of the state. That only adds to the terror and stress that are already gripping you about paying for college, getting a job, moving out, and being an adult. All you want to do is stay in your bed and hide from reality. Netflix and books are better than real life anyway, right?

You realize that soon, everything you’ve known for the past twelve to fourteen years of your life will be gone. You no longer have to wake up at six in the morning to catch the bus that arrives ridiculously early for the five-minute ride to school. You’ll have more than two minutes to go to the bathroom because you won’t be racing halfway around the school to get to your next class. Each and every minute of your day will no longer be scheduled for you. You won’t have to endure the alternating tundra and desert temperatures of the classrooms in school. You’ll forget what the cafeteria smells like when you don’t have to be in there every day, even though it seems impossible to forget such a repulsive scent. You might find random numbers popping into your head, only to realize that you’re remembering your locker combination for no apparent reason. You won’t be able to run down the hall to your friend’s locker at the end of the day to describe to her what the guy she hates said today in calculus. Those long, painful walks out to the trailers behind the school and back will no longer be a part of your daily exercise routine.

And even though you don’t want to admit it, you’re going to miss all of those things and more. You begin to feel nostalgic but keep it to yourself because you’re only seventeen and nostalgia’s for old people. The other seniors.

The rest of your life is almost here, and you’re scared, excited, and confused all at the same time. Your future is fast approaching, and there’s nothing you can do about it. In the wise words of Kurt Hummel, “The future used to be such an abstract idea. And the dream was enough, you know? Now the future has the nerve to show up and it’s expecting us to do something and it’s not interested in giving a lending hand.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

♥ Rebecca ♥


One Response to “Senioritis”

  1. erinblueglitter March 12, 2013 at 7:51 am #

    Reblogged this on erinblueglitter's Blog and commented:
    So true! Although I hat this place, I dont want high school to be over just yet!

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