Having contracted the Bubonic Plague (or possibly a cold; it’s too soon to tell), I have been quarantined in my house for quite some time now. I have spent a good chunk of that time reflecting on my life since it is very likely that it will come to an end soon (COD: hacking so hard that I coughed up my soul. Oh wait, that’s what high school did to me.) Then my mother came home with a bag chock full of drugs, and my thoughts became slightly less lucid and much more colorful. Thus I am writing my column this month in a foggy haze of antihistamines and Mucinex DM.
On my trip down Benadryl lane (which is lovely this time of year, by the way), I had an interesting thought. Senior year, much like the month of March, goes in like a lion and out like a lamb. We start off the year drowning in a tsunami of college applications, transcript requests, scholarship bulletins and embarrassing tan lines. Then comes the FAFSA, CSS Profile and other impossible tax forms that make your parents regret giving birth to you.
Once that nightmare is over, we garb up for Prom, enjoy a moment of rest on spring break (enjoy chlamydia, Myrtle Beach-goers!) followed by restless weeks sitting in class, gazing out the window and fantasizing about picnics. After that comes AP exams, and then, OMG, graduation.
I suppose the old adage, then, isn’t true; time flies even when you’re not having fun.
If I’m being completely honest, I guess there were one or two instances in which I enjoyed myself this year… I can’t think of any right now, but I’m sure they happened. Perhaps during one of my catnaps in Spanish.
My hope is that from now until June will be smooth sailing and easy rolling. Not that I was working very rigorously before, but it would be nice to sneak in a few more Z’s on my laptop in Newspaper.
And now, my friends, the Benadryl has taken its chokehold on me, and I must nap. Take your vitamins, seniors!