In an alarming turn of events, the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) has officially recognized Senioritis as a “highly contagious academic condition” sweeping through high school hallways at a record pace. The condition, previously thought to be just a lazy excuse for procrastination, has now reached epidemic levels, especially among students with already-secured college acceptances and TikTok accounts dedicated to “aesthetic study burnout.”
As a senior, I can attest to the burnout felt around the school. Back in September, I rolled my eyes at the word “senioritis.” I was going to be the exception. I had color-coded folders, a playlist for productive studying, and my college applications in before Halloween. But now, with graduation in 15 days and the weather finally warming up, I’m writing this article while half-distracted and debating whether I really need to finish my English homework tonight. Spoiler: I probably won’t.
Senioritis hit me slowly. First, it was sleeping in a little longer and grabbing coffee on the way to school instead of getting there early to review notes I never planned to look at again. Then I started turning things in late, not because I couldn’t do the work, but because I just… didn’t care anymore. The countdown to summer was louder than any email notification, louder than the morning announcements, louder than my own internal scream during Fourth-block English. By the end of quarter one, I abandoned my color-coded notebooks and folders in favor of one battered folder that was mostly held together by duct tape and hope. (As of writing this, I have completely lost the folder and everything in it) Honestly, it was less “organized academic strategy” and more “hobo bag of regret.” It became so much easier to let everything slide: deadlines, assignments, basic hygiene. If it weren’t for those $1.29 gas station energy drinks and the occasional existential crisis, I wouldn’t be a functioning human at all.
Teachers have responded by developing their own symptoms. One anonymous teacher confessed, “I gave them a pop quiz and three students just stared at me like I’d personally betrayed them. One kid asked if he could submit a TikTok rant instead of a written response. I’m honestly considering it.” Another reported finding was an essay that consisted entirely of Taylor Swift lyrics rearranged to fit a thesis about The Great Gatsby. “It sort of worked?” they admitted, eyes twitching. “I’m too tired to care.” Rumors have circulated that one history teacher has started ending lessons with, “Or maybe none of this matters, who knows? Let’s all go outside.” Administrators have attempted interventions, but most staff members are too far gone. As one counselor said, “Honestly, I’m just proud they’re still showing up at this point.”
In the most desperate case, one high school launched an emergency intervention by piping motivational speeches from celebrities they thought were popular through the intercom every morning. It backfired; students started quoting them ironically.
Doctors recommend rest, hydration, and frequent reminders that colleges can still rescind offers. However, recovery is not guaranteed until after graduation, or at least until the last bell rings and students toss their caps with enough enthusiasm to temporarily forget that adulthood is next.
It is also only predicted to get worse, now that AP testing is over, the seniors have very little reason to show up. Sartell High School is making an effort to keep them engaged by having a senior week, dress-up days, a dance, and other activities, but the seniors just can’t bring themselves to care with graduation in sight.
In the meantime, high school hallways remain eerily quiet except for the occasional whisper: “What even is the point of my classes right now?” Once-bustling corridors now resemble ghost towns, with seniors drifting from class to class like caffeine-deprived zombies, clutching iced coffees and existential dread. Lockers remain unopened, backpacks suspiciously light, and classrooms filled with the soft glow of Chrome tabs reading “How to graduate without trying.” Rumors swirl of students who haven’t seen a pencil since March and one senior who accidentally submitted a DoorDash order instead of their final project. The commons, once a place of mild relaxation, now hosts silent staring contests with the ceiling, interrupted only by the occasional sigh or the sound of someone muttering, “I was promised senior year would be easy.”
Disclaimer: This article is a work of satire and is intended for humorous purposes only. While “Senioritis” is a very real (and relatable) experience for many students, the events, quotes, and countermeasures described here are entirely fictional.
