![]() In a March poll, Gallup found that only 46 percent of unvaccinated Americans who intended to get a shot were still mostly or completely isolating. Taking a nation’s behavioral temperature can be a bit tricky, but data are beginning to show that even people who have stuck to safety protocols for much of the pandemic are getting antsy and letting things slip. This might be hitting a little close to home for you right now. It is sudden-onset farting around, and maybe breaking a few rules in the process. (Sound familiar?) It’s an abrupt bout of laziness, or flakiness, or riskiness. Senioritis comes from reaching the end stages of the lengthy work necessary to achieve a difficult-and often not altogether voluntary-goal. More a mood than a diagnosis, you can find many students afflicted by it in their last semester of high school or college. Read: Late-stage pandemic is messing with your brainįor those who are unfamiliar with the concept-or who were simply more committed students than I ever was-senioritis is a psychological affliction both totally made up and very real. As soon as she did, it made perfect sense: We’ve got pandemic senioritis. I couldn’t even think of a name for this phenomenon until a co-worker invoked an old high-school trope to explain why she was feeling similarly. My executive function, feeble in the best of times, is apparently never coming back from war. I have had an impossible time not just completing work tasks, but cooking for myself, working out, running errands, reading books, and even finishing shows I’ve started on Netflix. In the meantime, I have done virtually nothing that I’m supposed to be doing in order to get myself through this pandemic, which is definitely not over yet. ![]() Do I want to go on a vacation? Maybe I just want a dinner reservation-what’s available a couple of weeks from now? Do I want to move out of the apartment I’ve been sitting in for nearly every waking moment of the past 13 months? What’s everyone doing this weekend? ![]() ![]() But I am occupied by meandering thoughts of what the next few months might be like. My mood has been mostly fine, at least relative to much of the previous year. Unlike all the other distinct ways in which my brain has felt and functioned like canned tuna at various stages of the pandemic-the dread, the confusion, the period in which I was constantly dropping things-this one is unique in that it isn’t exactly bad. In the two months since, the delirium has settled into something duller, less frantic-the keys are in the ignition, but my mind simply will not turn over. I was overcome with relief, everything felt slightly unreal, and the time-dependent obligations of my life faded to the periphery of my consciousness. In the hours after scheduling my shot, I blew a deadline and was late to meet up with friends for a very cold outdoor hang. More durable, though, was the strange feeling that began when I made my appointment. As potential side effects go, it was rad. This acute, mildly high feeling-“brain fog,” a known side effect of the vaccines-lasted about two days. I felt a little bit stoned, like I had taken a low-grade edible instead of being shot up with cutting-edge technology that would help end a year-long global disaster. On February 25, I got my first shot of the Pfizer vaccine bright and early, picked up a breakfast burrito on the walk home, and spent the rest of the day sitting in my desk chair, doing what can only be described as vibing.
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