I never expected to get swallowed by themadness. People had warned me about it and I was sure it could never getme. The madness I am referring to is of the most menacing kind. It keepsyou up until 2 a.m. studying for the SATs, it doles out stress left andright, and it fills you with doubt about your academic abilities. SeniorMadness had been inching its way into my life for months and before Iknew it, it buried me under a pile of books. I could not remember thelast time I had hung out or even what it meant. I had a serious case andwas in desperate need of a cure.

I woke up one morning in themidst of this craziness realizing that I held the key to freedom - mynew license. I decided that this day would be dedicated to driving allover the tri-state area with my sister, Olivia. No books, no pens, nopaper, just me, my sister and the open road.

My mom quicklyflattened my plan. She reminded us that we were only teenagers and notallowed to take her car and drive all over creation. What if somethinghappened to us? Dear Lord! Oh, but she did have some banking we could dofor her.

Olivia and I resigned ourselves to the fact that ouroriginal expedition would have to wait. A three-mile drive toPeople’s Bank would have to suffice.

Undaunted by thechange in the scope of the trip, we set out. Pulling onto the main road,we rolled the windows all the way down. A burst of cool fall air rushedinto the car and rough-housed with my hair, blasting it back and thenblowing it forward. For a second I thought of the dangers of having hairin my face while driving: reduced visibility, not to mention thepossibility of knots. Then the opening notes of “Sweet HomeAlabama” swept me off Planet Practical into a carefree world.Olivia cranked up the volume and I let Lynyrd Skynyrd’s guitarspeak to my soul. Seizing this moment of freedom, I leaned out thewindow and did something completely out of character - I whooped. For athree-mile stretch, we were Thelma and Louise ... in my mother’sVolvo station wagon.

It is amazing how that drive refreshed myweary mind and made me realize the unnecessary pressure I was puttingmyself under. On that brief journey I discovered the cure for my seniormadness and it goes something like this: one new license and one dose ofgiggling (like a girly-girl) combined with three minutes of intenselip-synching to a song your parents listened to when they were your age.Note: Doing the above while driving slightly over the speed limit helpsquicken the recovery process.