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They say college is the best four year's of your life. What they fail to say, is why. Granted, movies like Animal House and Van Wilder go to great lengths in depicting the obvious benefits of attending an institution of higher learning. However, what those films, as well as most other media-based outlets lack, is the acknowledgement of the trial filled era prior to an abundant Eden. The only reason activities involving copious amounts of alcohol, drugs and sex is so appealing, is due to the fact that those were the exact same activities which were so openly condemned for the duration of high school.

To summarize my senior year in high school in one word would be "impossible". Yes, it seemed rather impossible that three years could have vanished so quickly. While it also seemed impossible that I was able to actually accumulate all of the required credit in order to be in such the opportune situation as I was. Be that as it may, I was still ready to get the Hell out of there. A bargain in which you trade roughly 5,040 hours of your life for a first-hand experience of a conformed society is nothing short of satanic. Like most people (including those who don't yet know it), I have a real problem with authority. There is a relatively thick line drawn between advising the ignorant and nave toward some form of enlightenment versus simply imposing a single-lane based ideal. The educators at my school were well aware of this line, but nonetheless, still chose to lay claim to the nonexistent grey area instead.

I was told repeatedly my senior year that I was fortunate when my school moved from its original establishment nearby, to a multi-million dollar campus far off. To which I replied repeatedly, "That's funny, because I actually enjoyed sleeping until seven a.m. every morning". Let me be clear, I had no gripe with the action of waking at six-thirty. However, I had an unambiguous issue with the idea of being forced to surrender thirty beloved minutes which I had grown accustomed to exercising for the previous three and a half years. The average time of travel from my home to my school used to be five to seven minutes. Once relocated though, that time expanded to twenty-five to forty minutes, thusly putting a damper on my day the minute I awoke. This fact alone would not have been so relevant if it were not for the most chronic disease associated with seniors having already infested my being. That disease was Senioritis.

Anyone who says Senioritis does not exist is unintentionally

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