Senioritis is a real illness. Instead of writing that paper, you’re out at Denny’s gorging yourself on a Grand Slam.

Instead of studying for that last test, you’re out slipping on the floor of the Rat, bumping and grinding with vodka on your pants and vomit on your shoes.

Instead of taking that much-needed leak, you exercise control over your bladder and hold it in — yes, senioritis is dangerous enough to generalize to bodily functions. Sometimes it’s so contagious that even non-seniors show symptoms.

Yet, even with the worst case of senioritis, the end of the year still causes this need to rush, a need to accomplish everything that should have been done but never was. Now everyone is trying to cram everything into schedule, especially graduating seniors. Besides worrying about graduation and having the correct requirements for their degree, seniors have been on the prowl, cajoling friends into celebrating the last weeks of their BU sentence.

To be frank, this is what I fear the most at the end of this semester; not that I don’t have the right classes next semester or that I’ll be graduating in a year, but that I haven’t spent enough time with the class of 2010.

In high school, I barely knew anyone older than me because everyone was closer with people in the same grade. I was also always intimidated by the hierarchy of upperclassmen; when people graduated, I barely noticed.

However, in college, it’s easier for underclassmen to mingle with upperclassmen, even though there’s a distinct difference from being a freshman to a senior. Hence, here I am, a junior with mostly senior friends (even though many of my junior friends are finishing their degrees early — I already told them that the job market sucks and they’ll still find themselves eating ramen noodles).

I haven’t reached that point where I can really look back and realize how lucky I am to have met and befriended the seniors I know — from the seniors I play volleyball with, to the suitemates I see every day, first thing in the morning and last thing at night, to the seniors who brought me to Merlin’s for the first time. I’ve gotten so used to seeing their faces that I can’t imagine not seeing them next year.

But at least the seniors leaving have taught me one useful thing. Next year I’ll be sure to complain to underclassmen that they should sled down the mountain in the Nature Preserve, steal decorations from bars, dance on countertops and splurge on dinners every weekend with me because “I’m graduating!”

Thus, to the graduating class of 2010: For the love of god, graduate already. My belly and my liver can’t take anymore. Though, in all seriousness, when I scan the campus next year I will have a sudden longing to see the faces that I have taken for granted all these years, and i’ll miss you.