So there I sat in the doctor's examining room, wearing only that garment known by those in the medical profession as a "johnny" and by the rest of us as an "embarrassment." I'd been waiting in this Mass. General Hospital room for about fifteen minutes now, and I was getting somewhat impatient, as well as considerably chilly.
Finally the doctor walked in, holding my thick medical chart and looking pleasant and yet serious.
"Laura. How are you?" he asks, somewhat concerned. "You haven't had a relapse of mononucleosis have you?"
"No," I reply "I've been feeling pretty healthy lately, as far as that's concerned. I mean, there's no fever or anything."
"Good, good." Dr. Quartermain said. "Well then, what can I do for you."
"Actually, Doctor, I'm not sure if you can do anything for me, Something just doesn't feel right."
"Where, exactly? Do you have a pain somewhere?"
"No, it's not that. It's like I just feel vaguely unsettled."
"Disoriented?"
"Well, yeah, but not dizzy disoriented. Like I've just had the feeling lately that I don't belong here."
"Don't belong. . .??" he said, trailing off into confusion.
"At Dartmouth. Like I keep on thinking that the last four years were just one big ol' wrong turn and that I would have been better off taking that scholarship at Podunk University than going to Dartmouth."
"And what do you do when you have these thoughts? Do you have a panic attack? Experience shortness of breath, heart palpitations, do you hyperventilate?"
"No, usually I just sit around. And I play Snood a lot. That's a video game."
"Huh. Ok, we're going to try something now." Taking my arm, he put his hand on my pulse point. "Do you have a job for next year?" I felt my pulse race. "No."
"Uh huh. Plans for graduate school next year?" I swallowed loudly. "Nope."
"Just as I thought. Nothing serious going on here, just a case of senioritis."
"Inflammation of the senior?"
"Not exactly. Basically, some people in their last year of college become overwhelmed with all they need to do to get ready for "the real world" and so to compensate they do nothing instead."
"How can this be remedied?"
"Basically, you just need to prioritize. If you can't do everything, don't try. Just do what you have to. That's the key to getting past senior year."
"OK. The thing of it is, though, that I've been feeling this way since like Freshman Spring."
"What? What's that you say?" he said. "Well then. That's another kettle of fish altogether."
"Early onset senioritis?" I asked hopefully.
"Laziness," he said.
"Well, what can I do about it?" I asked.
"Stop lying there. Do something for crying out loud."
I stared at him in confusion. He sounded a lot like my mom. Then, before my eyes his features morphed into those of my mother. I blinked, and shook my head to clear it.
"What? Huh?" I asked my mother in confusion. The television was on, and I looked at the image of Dr. Alan Quartermain as he talked to a patient on "General Hospital."
"I said," said my mother, "That you have been sitting there in front of the TV all day. Do something. Why don't you work on you grad school applications, or read that "How to Interview" book I bought you."
"OK, OK," I said, getting up.
You'd think she would have a little bit more sensitivity in dealing with me. After all, I do have a medical condition. And as Dr. Quartermain could attest, Senioritis is not a laughing matter.
