My brother introduced me to  the word “senioritis” in the year 2015, proclaiming to the world he was entering the next stage of his life. At the time I was a naive eighth grader, wondering what that meant, and why everyone in my brother’s class was afflicted with it.

Now, four years later, I finally understand.

If you had seen me these past few years, you’d have never thought I’d catch this disease — I took all the countermeasures possible. My medicine: a strict work ethic of finishing homework and essays the moment I get home. If not, I would work diligently into the night as the numbers on my digital clock went far past twelve. I got high 90s since freshman year, high honor roll, etcetera.

This all came crashing down this year.

Now, I struggle to find the motivation to write one word. And I used to love writing. Believe it or not, I would write for fun. But now? It’ll take Herculean effort to even type out one paragraph. I used to finish homework the period after it was assigned. Now, I do it the period before its due. I groan about completing tasks that even three months ago I finished with ease. So the questions ‘what’s happened?’ and ‘how do I fix it?’ are my current fixation.

I know exactly what happened, although I loathe to admit it. The moment I finished my last college essay, it was all over. High school now seemed like a temporary fantasy until real, amazing life came to a head in college. I was, and still am, so excited to leave the island. School seems unnecessary — the long wait in between decisions from competitive schools drags on my patience for life to start. Additionally, I took four AP classes — both a mistake, and a boon. A mistake, I realize now, due to the fact that the colleges I applied to would’ve already given me their decision way before May 1, and would probably not even glance at my hard earned  threes and fours and perhaps the occasional five. The realization discouraged me.

In essence, I’ve gotten lazy (at least, according to my parents).