Comfort For Seniors With One Week To Go

Today, the Moving Up rally occurred, and I figured that this was the kind of quality material that I should be writing and reflecting about.

In a nutshell, I'm not sad about leaving high school. It isn't bittersweet. It's strictly the sweet stuff. My eyes glazed over as I watched the digital photographs pop up to a rhythm on that projector. I felt no personal connection to any of the people represented within them. They were all just models. They were wax statues of people with vague personalities and social lives I was never apart of. These people don't know who I am. They couldn't describe me if they tried. I'll leave high school and only two people will miss me.

And on top of it all, I'm stressed beyond belief. I have more projects to get done than I ever had to do this whole school year and I have to get them all done within the course of a week.

Wait Amelia. Stop. Think about this. You have one. Week. Really. That's it. You have one week of unbelievable stress left. You have one more miserable little week of getting up at 6:30 and getting in the car and listening to KFOG and going to PE in the cold. You have one more week of being stared at in each class. One more week of presentations, grades, assignments, Sparknotes, waving awkwardly to people in the halls, listening to music between each class, mundane lunches, going to the bathroom to kill time, tests, changing out, and running. Has it hit you hard enough yet? You are ALMOST DONE. And it isn't just a temporary done like all the others. This is the biggest done of all. This is the ultimate. You have entered hell and you can see the gate. You have the key. And it's only one week away. Can you taste it? Can you taste the freedom on your lips? All these summers have only been appetizers- they don't even compare to the real thing. Back then, it was always temporary. There was always knowledge of an inevitable return. But not this time. This time, the curse will be lifted. The title "student" will no longer apply to you. College Park won't be anything to you but an ironic repressed memory. You'll be free to live your life without grade-induced obligations. You could move to Canada. You cold write a novel on your own terms. This man-made childhood phase will come to its glorious end, and you will raise your golden diploma victoriously to the sky.

Just picture it now. You're putting on your robe. This is simultaneously the ugliest and most wonderful article of clothing you will ever wear in your life. You place your cap smugly atop your head. A smirk rests on your face. And only one week from now.

Now picture yourself waltzing down the steps in a proud little line of fellow seniors. You see your parents. Your heart beats a million miles per hour. You see the stage. And just a week away.

Now picture an amplified voice calling your name as you walk across the windy stage. You reach for the single most important piece of paper of your teenage life. You decisively shake a teacher's hand. They snap a picture of you. Your family cheers wildly off in the distance.

And all just a week away.