Sophomore slump: it's a violent condition known to cause athletes in their peak to falter without reason.

It's a tragic curse that sucks up a mighty new musician and spits him out a has-been. It's the flop of all flops in the sequel film industry.

But worst of all, it is a remarkable trap with the ability to make the term "second semester high school senior" sound like child's play.

My peers, welcome to the suck. Each new day seems to bring a new member. Some burnt out from a week of "extracurricular" syllabus week activities, others dejected from the lack of such debauchery.

Many are slipping off the cloud of a golden first year GPA, and others still are already struggling to stay afloat.

The reactions I've heard baffle me. It appears that the week following the abundance of happiness, excitement and ragers has the ability to totally reverse the personalities of the student body.

"I don't even feel like hooking up anymore. The thought just disgusts me," says a self-proclaimed flirt who recently inherited a double bed following a roommate's transfer.

"I'm so over drinking. Is that bad? We're not even 20 yet," says an exasperated former partier who couldn't wait to revive the "Jersey Shore" drinking game back at school. Really, how do you explain to the parents what "the Situation" is and why you should take a shot when he calls himself that?

"Why am I still here? I have to study. I don't have time for any of this. Why am I so nauseous? I think I forgot to eat today. Powernap time," whines your friend who's been parked in your room for the last three hours.

Actually, that was me. That memory foam you bought for the double bed is better than spooning.

But if I had to summarize it in one sentence, it's a general sense of "I have no motivation to do anything at all."

What is it about these days that suddenly rewire us to think that watching our friends play Super Smash Brothers is an acceptable activity?

How are we so quickly deflated from spectacular week of quite literally having nearly no responsibilities?

Clean laundry from home, no major assignments until the textbooks arrive from Amazon, stockpile of microwaveable food and a flurry of friends eager to catch up and drink down.

For one week and one week only this winter, we are free to sow our wild oats and ignore the growing list of assignments stacking up in our planners. We should be having a grand old time making up for whatever we feel like our hometowns could not stack up to.

And yet we barely escape in one piece. We're on the fast track to Struggle Town when the Winter Break bus has barely pulled out of College Park Avenue.

It's rough and it's frustrating. Some days, it seems like the weekend will just never return. But we'll get over it soon. We have to. Don't they call these the best four years of our lives?