One day — on a particularly long and humid day at school, I might add — I was walking through the emptiness that is seventh period when my throat started to hurt. It must be the common cold. I get colds all the time: Long nights studying mixed with minimal amounts of attention paid to my health is just the right recipe for disaster.

I got home, drank around three cups of chamomile tea and studied for the next day’s normal rounds. Lights out, bedtime. Three hours later, the lights went back on. In a flurry of febrile confusion, I awoke to the complete darkness of 2 a.m. My head was dizzy and I was teetering dangerously on the verge of vomiting, crying and vomiting a whole lot more. It seemed like the world was ending at the hands of a distressing migraine and one incredibly sore throat.

I cried throughout my doctor’s appointment, thinking that something was extremely wrong with me, until the diagnosis came.

“A fever, that’s it?” I remember clearly exclaiming. All this time, I thought I had mono or the norovirus or chronic fatigue syndrome. Turns out I am fatally flawed at diagnostics.

Anyways.

This, my fellow peers, is the experience of the springtime Oak Park high schooler. When death is so much more appealing than school. Death, meaning helplessly sniffling till the lights go out.

Even school feels dead. Spring — and winter, I suppose, but it’s basically just a colder springtime — seem more abundant with school absences than in other parts of the year due to the increased risk of the flu, fevers, colds, allergies, the norovirus (more recently) and asthma attacks. Sure, the positive pedestrian might see the sun and rain, flowers and trees, or birds and bees of the spring. But for me, I’d rather filter out all that happiness and focus on my type of happiness: house-bound, away from nature, sick as a dog, and catching up on the many episodes of “Criminal Minds” I’ve put off over the years. Sickness is a blessing in disguise because you get time off away from the madness of a school environment to focus on mental and physical health needs.

Excusing my health for various assignments at the time proved deadly, yet at the same time, the payoff wasn’t too bad. Spending my days in bed eating soup and drinking all my favorite teas is a godsend, especially for mental health.

The year is coming to a close and you want to stay on top of schoolwork and keep up that decent attendance record you’ve been so laboriously on top of. But forget grades, says your immune system. And, in some not-so-twisted way, you agree. Sickness is a fact of life, and my health is always declining until it finally hits a breaking point.

It’s a relief to finally be sick so your body can say “I told you so,” and you’ll be like “Yeah, you did.” This is the agreement you made with your body once you committed to spending your high school years at OPHS. An agreement where bodily health — sometimes subconsciously over time — becomes subpar to grades, sports and whatnot. You tell yourself you can sleep when you’re dead, but death will only come sooner if you ignore the fact that you can die without enough sleep.

So kids, sit back, relax and be content. Puke your guts out and cough your lungs to pieces, because at least there’s no school for you when you’re deadly sick.

But good luck explaining the cause of your impending death when you call in.