I’m a writer, which means I either love sports (and will become a sports writer) or sports metaphors (and will become homeless in two month’s time). In my case, I actually like using sports as a way of describing non-sporty things, as sports themselves are not my (Matt) Forte. I’m a fan of mulligans, second base, and — perhaps most applicable — the home stretch.

That is where we are now, people. Spring Break is over and we have nothing left to look forward to until we cross that finish line next month. Senioritis has set in and for many of us, it’s a crippling, debilitating syndrome that inflames the apathy gland and increases slacking production, so close to the end of the season.

I remember this feeling from high school, which feels like an entire Obama administration ago (plus a year). Every paper takes twice as long to serve up, every online assignment gets interrupted by constant Facebook updating (usually “This homework is taking forevvvvvvver!”) and my allergies are acting up. Focus and drive are as absent as half the students in class.

So as we race to the finish, how do we stop ourselves from stepping too far out of bounds and ending up in overtime (summer school)?

I honestly wish I knew. Senioritis (or whatever you want to call it) affects a large number of graduating students, and while I used to say it’s just all in your head, I wish to add an addendum (a phrase that is redundantly superfluous): duh. Senioritis is a psychosomatic disorder, and the biggest problem is that there are no good drugs out there for it. While some of the symptoms may be physical, such as Cheetos belly or the idea that a messy bun is acceptable for ten days in a row, the source is in the mind.

This kind of lethargy is different from everything else, it seems. It has come from out of left field. There has been no other time where updating your iPod has felt so important or learning how to do make origami cranes so crucial. It is as if your brain has turned against you and wants any useless stimulation available. The very things you need to do to graduate are the things you desire least to do. How messed up is that?

Will there be a second wind, or will you let this affliction knock you down for the count? It’s impossible to tell at this point. At this point, the best advice I can give is to squash (or racquetball) these lazy thoughts and keep your nose to the grindstone, which I doubt is a sports analogy (I’m actually not sure at all what that procedure is in reference to, apart from medieval rhinoplasty).

There’s about one month to go still and if we want to get a bull’s-eye on this semester (meh, darts counts as a sport), we have to just power through this seventh-inning stretch. This isn’t a game anymore. [email protected]