A disease is plucking at my brain. It’s been plucking for quite some time, at least since covid-19 first set upon the world. I know that my work ethic is dead. Murdered. The Summa Cum Laude student I once was no more. There is a melancholy in me. I find myself barely dragging myself across the finish line. 

It’s hot in my room. A sweat, a slow quiet boil that’s beginning to rise to the top. Something not quite hot enough to warrant sweat to form on my brow, yet enough to be just uncomfortable, feeling your skin stick together. 

God. I just want to finish high school and be done with the boil, to feel the release of no longer having to worry about missing assignments I can’t bring myself to do, even though I want to. I want to feel the cool taste of lemonade in sun, not having my assignments in the back of my mind. I’m not trying to pout or blame anyone but myself but I feel so… exhausted. I’m worried about giving up too soon and having everything I worked so hard for be stripped away. Leaving my college plans and by proxy, my whole life in the dust. 

So, dear senioritis, 

Please leave me be.