For me, the college admissions process began in the eighth grade. My mom, bursting with good intentions, signed me up to take the SAT. Curious to know how I would rate among the high school students (who at the time appeared much more mature and mysterious than they do to me now), I was excited to take the infamous standardized test.

My excitement faded fast as my alarm clock shattered the silence in my bedroom on that Saturday morning. Waking up at 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday is something I’m almost never willing to do. I dreaded the next four hours of my life. They proved miserable. The pipes clattered in the old school building as my legs began to fall asleep, cramped in the small encasing of a metal desk. I put my head down to rest my brain, and a few minutes later jolted awake. Did I just fall asleep during the SAT? I quickly looked around me to make sure no one had noticed. I hurriedly got to work again, taking the rest of the test more seriously.

Now, three years later, that same dread has reappeared multiple times in the past few months as I explore such enjoyable things as “interest inventories,” college questionnaires, and the ever-exciting college essay. The first step I took was to retake the SAT. I had felt that it was time to rekindle my relationship with the world of standardized testing. Sadly, my reunion with the SAT was less than enjoyable. With growing expertise, I soon learned of an alternative to the miserable test known as the SAT. I decided to sign up as soon as possible to take the notoriously easier ACT.

Signing up to take the ACT, I was bombarded with an application about 15 pages long. I spent an hour rating activities such as “looking at the stars” and “building a picture frame out of wood” from 1 (meaning I would not enjoy the activity) to 3 (meaning I found that particular activity exciting). I continually found myself questioning the importance of the questionnaire, and with each new page, I wondered whether I really needed to take the ACT. Eventually the application was finished, and I could now look forward to another four hours of untangling word problems that could determine the outcome of the next five years of my life. Little did I know, this was only the beginning, and soon I would have to tackle the infamous college essay.

I will soon begin working on my essay, but for now I must think of a topic. For weeks I have been analyzing myself over and over. Have I even had a significant experience recently? And I’m sure I haven’t had any life-altering decisions to make (besides which color — “off-white” or “champagne” — will match my prom dress better). And my hopes for a great essay are dashed every time I hear about someone else’s essay: their city-changing petitions or their hike through the wilderness of Alaska put my experiences to shame. I thought of writing about how much my family means to me, but that would seem too cliché. I even thought of making something up. Maybe I could write about how I traveled around the world distributing medication to third world countries. For my essay, I search to find a way to advertise my good qualities while still sounding modest and worldly. I wonder whether writing the essay came naturally to most people, and I’ve somehow been left in the dark, lacking this natural talent that others seem to magically possess.

In search of more self-promotion, I have recently begun joining clubs left and right. Out of nowhere, I joined the clubs that I had never ever remotely considered before, just so it would look good on my college application. I began faking a passion for archery and French, and becoming an active member in each of these clubs. I hoped no one would see through me, so I would be able to remain a member. But I am certain that my secret won’t be discovered.

Despite the absurdity of this process, I hope that I’ll learn something valuable about myself. I’m hoping that in the end everything will pay off, and I’ll be accepted at my dream school.