Late summer brings grand plans for the academic year. I will do all my readings. I will exercise every morning. I will have a job by March. And yet, as I struggle to accomplish even simple tasks on my to-do list, I’m starting to wonder whether I can do anything grand at all.
Some may claim my sluggish behavior is a sign of senioritis — a virus difficult to diagnose. Contrary to popular belief and student-perpetuated myth, senioritis does not affect only those students on the cusp of graduation. I would hypothesize we are all born with a small dose of this poison and, unfortunately, there is no cure. No amount of illegal study drugs will save us.
In some special cases, those afflicted have learned to beat symptoms of senioritis without the help of caffeine or nagging of a helicopter parent. With research into these rare human specimens ongoing, the source of their superior ability remains unknown.
And though senioritis can face long periods of remission, it can still return in nasty bouts — often when pressure from schoolwork increases.
Outside-the-classroom responsibilities can become an issue, too. I’m three weeks into my fourth year, and there are currently still four unframed posters lying creased and dusty on the ground of my bedroom. My curtains are blatantly disheveled as they hang on three large white command hooks kindly left by the tenant before me.
Postcards from my spring semester abroad sit in a wire box from Home Goods, on clearance because it doesn’t sit with all four corners on a tabletop. A pile of clothes remains hidden in the crevasse between my bed and my large windows. And until last week, my roommate and I spent our evenings rewashing plasticware, waiting for the right opportunity to buy real kitchen supplies.
Is this how adults live? Or am I the only person at the University stuck in a collegiate phase of complete unproductivity, making endless to-do lists but checking nothing off? My personal battery seems to consistently run at a 65 percent, always waiting to be charged.
My peers complain of similar symptoms — but is this really an epidemic? Or am I overreacting?
These are the times I wish I still went to my pediatrician, able to pick my favorite sticker from a drawer at the end of a checkup. Oh, how I wish I could just dismiss my laziness with a magic doctor’s note.
Allie’s column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at a.lank@cavalierdaily.com.
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