I am a victim.

A victim of a crippling disease that manifests the soul and morphs the noblest of human beings into the most lethargic creatures of existence.

Please, have sympathy for me, as I suffer from senioritis. A moment of silence. Let that sink in. Thank you.

I thought I had senioritis my previous four years of college. I was sadly mistaken. Because this semester, I am dealing with an entirely different beast.

Senioritis does not even describe this beast. He needs a new name. One beyond the knowledge of mankind.

Nevertheless, he has come to life and completely taken me over.

For example, I am not one to nap. I’d consider myself lucky if I could squeeze in a nap once every few weeks.

But these past two weeks. Oh, these past two weeks.

I have taken AT LEAST a three-hour nap once each day for the past 14 days.

I never studied before. Now? I just don’t do homework (please forgive me to all my professors reading this).

Hell, this column has even taken me more than an hour to write. Opinions editor Rob Downen is literally breathing over my right shoulder, hounding me to finish because he wants “to go to Ike’s.”

I would love to give advice to all underclassmen. I would love to tell them to not fall into the same trap that has made me a mindless drone.

Senioritis is inevitable, though.

Honestly, I don’t know if I can even muster enough strength to make it through this col

Anthony Catezone can’t be reached. He is graduated and gone. Don’t even bother contacting him; it’s useless.