Because life is cruel and unjust, the mumps have arrived with a vengeance at Truman State this winter. "The mumps," you ask, "how can that be?" The answer is simple: this school wants to kill you.

I honestly don't even think I'm being the least bit dramatic when I say that because it's the most plausible explanation. Not only does Kirksville winter come with temperatures that freeze your very bones, winds that literally peel the flesh from the parts of your uncovered face, and a large bout of seasonal depressions, it now also comes with mumps. Oh, and influenza. Almost forgot.

At this point, I'm a second-semester senior. I've done my time, I've put in the work (and the sweat and the tears and the energy not already fueling my constant existential crisis). If the mumps comes after me, though, I'm out. Like, I'm so, so close to the end that I can already taste the freedom, but if any friggin' disease sets up shop in my body, I'm already gone. I'll resign myself to a life in the wilderness. I'll live out the rest of my days (and there won't be many of them) as a hermit in the mountains or maybe behind an abandoned Long John Silver's.

I feel as though I speak on behalf of all Truman students when I ask: why us? Is life here already not miserable enough without having to turn on our dearest friends when they cough mid-conversation? Are we not already plagued with enough utter nonsense just living our daily lives? Why must we now have to bathe in Germ-X every time we leave the house for classes? Why do we now have to distrust every person we come across, wondering if they're harboring a disease and just waiting to unleash it upon us when we least expect? Is there not already enough ill-will on this campus during these dreary months?

In the end, I wish you all well. I hope you understand if I refuse to come within 30 feet of you. I hope you won't be offended if you sneeze and I immediately terminate our friendship. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Also, I just want Truman to know that I'm going to make you pay for the giant bubble I'm going to be living in until graduation in May. Expect an invoice from me shortly.