When I think about it, I’ve been waiting most of my life to be a senior. Ever since the sixth grade, I dreamt of the day I would be on the top of the food chain, playing with the big dogs. I passed the time until senior year by writing “Seniors 2011” on almost everything, and trying to think of clever rhymes with “11,” without any success.

As a freshman, I looked up to the seniors, because they were so much older and seemed to do everything right and seemed to have everything under control.

But on the first day of senior year, it didn’t feel any different. I didn’t feel different.

For all the hype and anticipation of “the final year,” all I felt was disappointment. Senior year was supposed to be a fun, relaxing year. I’ve always seen those seniors with a schedule of painting, weight training, econ, and a free fourth, and I’ve always envied how stress-free and relaxed the year seemed. It was supposed to be a year of not really caring if you are a few minutes late to your third period.  This “wondrous” year I had striven for the past three years felt the same, except with harder classes, higher expectations, and of course those oh-so-fun college application essays.

I’m not saying that senior year is a bad thing; it’s far from bad. I’m just disappointed that it feels the same as before.

Sure, some of this frustration might come from the fact that the oldest class in the school is the smallest. In a school with a freshman class close to twice the size of the seniors, being a senior doesn’t make me feel “powerful” or looked up to, just old.

Maybe it’s my own fault, for looking forward to this year with so much anticipation and a solid vision of what it would be like in my head. Except that vision forgot to factor in all of the unknowns about college and the contagious disease of senioritis.