Senioritis — Fourth-Yearitis? — of a Fourth Year

It’s that time of year! The sun is shining, the pollen is flowing, the Lawn is packed — the Lawn is packed! — I appreciate those who get the Finding Nemo reference. Anyway, you better get creative if you want to find a picnic spot. Most importantly, there are fourth years, like myself, wearily gearing up to take our final steps down the lawn. If you’re hoping to spot a fourth year in the wild and show some support, here are some things to look for based on personal experience.

1. A look of general vacancy. They’ve fully exhausted the brighteyed-bushy-tailed look.

2. Lying starfish-style on the Lawn because they don’t actually give a crap about their filler classes and are calculating the GPA damage for half-assing their final assignments.

3. A class ring.

4. Camping outside of Bodo’s for the #1 ticket and swearing on

Thomas Jefferson’s name if anyone cuts in front of them.

5. Walking out of a Lawn room.

6. Talking to a group of friends about how young the first years look and asking if they used to look so little.

7. Crouched in front of a laptop with upwards of 40 pages in a word document, possibly with dried tear streaks. They’re writing a thesis, do not approach.

8. Not being able to decide which food truck to go to because if they have to make one more decision today they will implode.

9. Practicing their run on the Lawn because there’s one semester left — if you know, you know.

10. Taking pictures with a cap and gown, pretty dead giveaway. All of this amounts to what is affectionately known as senioritis. Senioritis (noun) – lack of motivation to do anything related to academics by the end of high school or college. In my experience, it’s been like having a toddler in my brain who frequently cries, ‘but I don’t wanna!’ when I look at my upcoming assignments. Eating chocolate is a temporary suppressor.

I’m well acquainted with senioritis since my struggle with it in high school. Though, for whatever reason, I didn’t expect it to come back in such full force this semester. Something about being a fourth year and not a senior…

One of my friends mentioned that we had just a week of classes left, which I reiterated with a cheer. Almost done! Almost no more homework for at least the near future — unless you are going to grad school! On top of this I took graduation photos, making me think, “Do I really need to go back to class? Look, I already graduated, I did it, it’s official!” Later that evening I looked at the calendar and indeed confirmed that there was only a week left — or in other words, seven days. Seven days meaning possibly just one or two left per class — meaning, oh crap, it’s really almost over.

This is different from the often-repeated “thank God it’s almost over” because the routine I’ve been in for four years is about to drastically change — hopefully overall for the better. But it’s not easy counting on one hand how many weekends are left to spend with friends. The University keeps everyone corralled in Charlottesville for each semester, but as the summer approaches it feels like Jim Ryan is holding up a sign for fourth years saying, “You’re almost at the finish line! Hope you did everything you wanted to!”

Like most young adults, I have in fact not done everything I wanted to do because growing for four years means I don’t have the same wants as first-year me, and it’s only in the last hour of college that I rec- ognize how much more time I had earlier on. They say time flies when you’re having fun, but it also flies when you’re desperately trying to stay on top of school work and navigate a typical, tumultuous, young adult personal life. I suppose this is why they give bucket lists to the first years.

If you ever see your fourth-year friend looking a little forlorn, tell them to take a break from studying and go outside to live a little. If they have made it this far, the homework always gets done, but these moments in the last hour of college won’t wait. Also, maybe buy them a coffee or sandwich or something if they’re writing a thesis — it sucks.

CATHERINE ORESCAN is a Humor Columnist for The Cavalier Daily. She can be reached at humor@cavalierdaily.com

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