My senioritis began in early November. By that time, I had completed all but one college application and awaited admittance notice.

As of now, I applied to Sheridan, Corban, Rocky Mountain, Warner Pacific, Carroll and Bryan colleges. All of which accepted me. Although some are highly recommended with less than 60 percent acceptance rates, I chose Sheridan.

I plan on completing my general education there before I transfer to RMC to finish my degree. I intend to pursue a degree in journalism. Hopefully the time I spent here at the Tribune will attribute to a healthy career.

I worked on many different story styles and possibly settings of a real-life job while at the Trib. Initially, Looking Back was my main focus and took the majority of my short internship. The segment looks small and minimal in the actual paper, and sometimes it takes a genuine effort to find, but quite honestly, it was tedious.

I hadn’t figured out my writing style or how long or how short the summaries needed to be, so the start was pretty rocky. When I finished March and April, I jumped for joy, “Yay! I’m finally done!” As many will see after I am gone, May and June are completed as well.

I also got to drop my two cents in the bucket with this column. I’m not consistent, and only stay at the paper for an hour and 45 minutes most days. I’m not efficient right now.

However, I’m thoroughly thankful for the time I did spend at my dated and un-personalized desk.

I spent little time working on Tribune work, but I did fill my time of Work Experience to hopefully receive an “S” grade of satisfactory from the high school.

Unfortunately, the Trib was the only place I worked. Senioritis was an exhausting experience. I finally reached that point where I could sleep for 12 hours — I never really could do more than 10 — and I could watch Netflix for the other 12. Soccer did help me from turning into a heap of cake and granola bars.

Quite honestly, the extreme procrastination and lazy behavior is tiring.

I’m stuck under an unhealthy trap of: wake up tired, go to school tired, work at paper, EAT, go back to school tired, EAT, kick a ball, EAT, Netflix, cram in homework and finally sleep.

The final days of school are now countable on my hands. Talk is all about handing out pictures and graduation announcements.

Girls are buying dresses to go under the unfitted black gowns. I gave up on fetching scholarships and am trying to fill out enrollment forms.

The countdown is on to my final week.

Monday will be relatively easy as I enjoy a lovely meal at the Senior Banquet. Tuesday and Wednesday I officially am signing out, taking finals, returning books and grabbing my cap and gown.

Thursday, Friday and Saturday will be hectic with state soccer. Sunday, pack like crazy for senior trip, graduate, party, bash and sleep for two hours. Monday, I will go to Billings and leave at 6:30 a.m. for Chicago.

I did not have a luxurious senior year. I was busy with applications and Make-A-Wish and keeping my grades above a 90 percent, but my strong front didn’t hold up as I sat and cried in the counseling office.

But AP exams and calculus tattoos have led up to the stage. I can’t wait to have orange, black and white balloons suspended over my head while I listen to Quin and Emma (co-valedictorians) give their speeches.

I most likely will be rummaging through the memories of this year, rather than any sappy Ralph Waldo Emerson quotes they throw in. Senior year went by quickly — and definitely not the way I expected it to.

I had no clue where I would apply to, but free applications and no essays were the only deciding factors. I thought I would go to Winter Formal or Prom (finally), but I didn’t.

I thought I would be awful in cross country, but I raced my best times this year despite battling my chronic knee injury. I thought soccer was going to be easy, but slamming onto my kneecap during the Worland Invitational slowed me down drastically.

By far, high school has not been the best years of my life — an upgrade from middle school, but no highlight. I don’t know if college will be the best years of my life or if I will marry a hunky guy in flannels.

As it turns out, I’ve been wrong before.