10 signs you’re a student suffering from senioritis!
iStock | KatarzynaBialasiewicz
Are you tired? Are you bored? Are you simultaneously itching to get out into the world and terrified of the NCLEX? Have you lost touch with all of your friends? Can you talk about nothing but the particularly gross wound you saw last week in clinicals?
If “yes,” then you, my friend, may have senioritis. Read on for more symptoms of this debilitating, though temporary, disorder.
1. You stare at your textbooks and, rather than wondering what’s inside them, you wonder how much money you’ll get back when you sell ’em at the end of the term.
2. You have deeply held, passionate opinions about pens. And everybody else’s opinions on pens are wrong.
3. You dimly remember, at one point, having had something called a “life,” and you wonder what it’d be like to have one again.
4. There are small children running around, and/or an adult, whose faces you can kind of place. People tell you that those are your children and/or partner.
5. Once upon a time, you wore real clothes. You remember those. They did not have elastic waistbands…
6. …and now you have deeply held, passionate opinions about scrubs.
7. Dinner with non-nursing-school friends is like watching a foreign film with no subtitles. What is this “dating” they’re talking about? Who is this “family”?
8. Ten minutes of sleep is actually a lot.
9. And 15 minutes in the shower is equal to six hours of sleep.
10. You can see your career on the horizon and you know, deep in your bones, that no matter how hard it is to be a nurse, it’s still going to be easier than being a nursing student.
Are there any other symptoms of senioritis we’ve missed? Share them with us in the comments section below to!
Agatha Lellis is a nurse whose coffee is brought to her every morning by a chipmunk. Bluebirds help her to dress, and small woodland creatures sing her to sleep each night. She writes a monthly advice column, "Ask Aunt Agatha," here on Scrubs; you can send her questions to be answered at firstname.lastname@example.org.
By Agatha Lellis