Every senior seems to have the same chant—“I can’t wait to get out of here.”

As soon as senior year begins, this feeling develops in the pit of your stomach. Every time something even slightly noteworthy happens, this thought runs through your mind: “This time next year I won’t be here.”

I won’t be living at home. I won’t be in Sacramento. I won’t be at Country Day. I won’t be around people I’ve known practically my whole life.

“Why is it so bad to live with your parents?” senior Grant Miner says.

I’m with everyone on how exciting it is to leave. I mean, I haven’t talked to a single person who isn’t thoroughly enjoying their college experience.

But a part of me isn’t quite ready to let go yet. So much changes so quickly, that the prospect is a bit daunting.

However, most of my classmates seemed unfazed by the idea. To them, every passing day is one day closer to leaving.

On the other hand, I have even, in moments of weakness, felt nostalgic about Octagon paste-up.

There’s something to be said about the familiarity of it all. I’ve become accustomed to the way things are in my life.

I can easily determine the location of almost anything in my room without my glasses. I don’t think twice about how to get around my house.

But a college campus won’t be like that.

Considering I have no sense of direction, I can imagine myself walking aimlessly, desperately trying to make my way to class. All the buildings tend to look pretty similar—tall and old-fashioned.

Luckily for me, the engineering buildings tend to awkwardly stand out, since they generally lack the architectural grace the other structures have.

But that’s just one thing that could go wrong. There’s also the roommate situation.

No matter how many questions the colleges ask to find the “perfect” match for you, like any dating site, there’s a plausible chance things won’t work out well.

I could sit here all day worrying and it would just be a downward spiral. I’m sure, as I’ve been told a multitude of times, that it’ll all work out.

Yet I can’t help but get sentimental about seemingly commonplace things, simply because they’re a “last.”

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