I think I’ll take a nap instead

I am now a free pigeon.

Well, sort of.

I’ve often heard that second-semester senior year is liberating. In fact, I’d originally planned on doing lots of crazy, stupid things that my fear of college rejection, among other things,  had stopped me from doing — like learning how to belly dance — but I’m still doing the exact same stuff I’ve done for the last four years.

I’m still watching the same terrible TV shows, reading the same Modern Love essays at 1:30 a.m. when I can’t sleep, taking the same BuzzFeed quizzes and laughing at the same stupid memes.

Two weeks ago, I stayed up until 2 a.m. watching “Riverdale.” I will admit that a part of me felt guilty for not spending that time working on the novel I claim to have been writing for the past four years. Or for not studying for that Stats quiz I knew I’d have to take later on that week.

But the other part of me felt a sort of secretive, upwelling rebellion, almost like I was sneaking out of the house.

It was strange. For the first time, I genuinely felt like I was making a bad decision minus all of the negative consequences. I felt like a 6-year-old stealing a cookie from the jar for the first time; like a middle schooler about to ask a girl out; like a 70-year-old with serious knee problems about to base jump off a 50-foot cliff.

I felt like I was living my life, carpe-ing the heck out of my diem — or night — and seizing each and every last precious second.

(OK, that last one was a bit extreme).  

Except I wasn’t. I was instead watching a group of unfairly attractive 15-year-olds chase down a mysterious serial killer.

When my mother asked me why I looked “like I’d spent the night out” the night before, I gave her the only reasonable answer.

“Studying.”

There were also times first semester when I promised my hobbyist-loving dad that I’d help him more around the house when I was “less busy with apps.” I told him I’d help him as he attached new towel stands in the hallway, built model hovercrafts, fixed cabinets and repainted the bedroom.

I even put “help dad more” on my bucket list for second semester of high school.

But now, every time he drops by to ask for my help, I decide that it happens to coincide perfectly with my scheduled daily nap, or that I’ve sprained my ankle (again) and am really “not feeling all that great.”

Here’s the thing: second semester senior year is becoming a time for me to unwind. In spite of all the places I had planned to do, my only real priority is pure, complete relaxation.

As much as I’d love to go out and explore the world, I’m perfectly happy enjoying the little things that my stress, in retrospect, stopped me from fully embracing in the past three and a half years.

It’s a weird feeling taking a BuzzFeed quiz at 3 a.m. when I know I have an in-class essay the next day.

But, for once, I don’t feel any shame or pressure. I have two whole episodes of “Riverdale” left to finish, anyway.