I have a wicked case of Senioritis. With each academic degree, the Senioritis manifests itself earlier and more severely. When I finished high school, the Senioritis struck when I formally accepted my scholarship at Saint Mary's. I would have SkyBlue* call into school for a "doctor appointment" so I could have the afternoon off to play. Towards the end, she was calling once a week and I'm surprised the administration did not question my sudden utilization of medical services! I distinctly remember pulling away from high school on that last afternoon, blaring Alice Cooper's "School's Out." I never looked back.My Senioritis reared its ugly head during the last semester of my bachelor's at Saint Mary's. However, instead of goofing off and blaring the music of glam-rock wannabes, I quit worrying about coursework and started grad school at ND, planned a wedding, and landed my first job. I was very worried about the future and having everything planned perfectly. I missed out on the activities of Senior week and even sacrificed U2 tickets (gasp!) for that first job. Talk about wrong priorities!
So just the other day, as I sat in a meeting at work, I did a mental tabulation of my remaining classes and graduate responsibilities. I have 16 classes left to attend, one humongus paper (25-30 pg), one moderate paper (8-10 pg), two essays, and three presentations. It's tempting to feel overwhelmed, as I only have six weeks left. Luckily, the Senioritis is mitigating my stress. I know everything will transpire as needed and the director of my master's program approved my application for graduation. I wasn't really sweating that; nonetheless, I keep reminding myself to aim high and finish strong.
Y'know what else mitigates stress? The smell of Coppertone! SkyBlue* always tells me to stop and smell the roses. I prefer to stop and smell the suntan lotion. I've been known to wear it in lieu of regular handcream. And yes, I know there is no shame in therapy!
*My dear mother requests a cool pseudonym. I thought the word "mom" was code enough. I hereby christen mom as "SkyBlue."
As I recall, when that senioritis hit us at SMC we were going to drop the dozens (hundreds?) of papers we'd written on the Registrar's desk and demand our diplomas claiming we'd done enough for earn them.
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