Senioritis

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I’ve been struck with a disease that can only be cured by a diploma and a mortar board.

 

On this campus, I’m a senior citizen. I’m among the most tired-looking set on campus. The bags under my eyes are big enough to count as extra baggage on international flights. My hair’s coming out, probably from all the yanking on it in times of stress, which is all the time. I can’t remember why I walked into this room, nor what I planned on doing once I got here. My knees creak, my back pops, I can’t get enough sleep, and my vision’s going. Never mind. My vision’s been gone for years.

 

And I’m not the only one who’s saying this. Every senior on this campus is saying it. We laugh at the little freshmen—those dear, sweet little freshmen—who think they have it bad right now. Okay, they do. But it gets worse. You just learn to tough it up and handle it better every year.

 

But four years of this kind of crazy is driving me a little…crazy. Crazy-er. I’m 21 years old and senile.

 

 Yet, I keep going. There’s still much to do. Miles to go before I sleep, as the saying goes. But if things keep up the way they’re going, I might not make it out of college with my sanity intact.

 

Oh, who am I kidding. It’s already gone. 

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