Let the drums roll and the cymbals sound. Once more, it's time for some of us to put our academic lives on the chopping block and experience the ultimate in instability: PGS (Pre-Graduation Stress).

Hailed by seniors everywhere as "most likely to lead to a nervous breakdown," PGS is that delightful state of mood swing which sends even the 3.8 person into an utter panic state.

Suddenly, prospective graduates are forced to deal with questions like . . . What am I going to do with my life? And where am I going to go?

Easy questions, right? Wrong. These are the kinds of dilemmas which produce age spots, hog jowls and wrinkles so deeply embedded into the skin that even Porcelana Fade Cream isn't a saving grace.

In time, students start running around the Career Development Center, repeating the same old chant: Cover letter, resume . . . Rah! Rah! Rah! Interview, interview . . . Job! Job! Job!

PGS is also a game the entire family can play. The minute you announce you're applying to grad school or hunting for a job, the world is at your doorstep, assaulting you with a variety of assorted questions.

Let's begin with parents. These are the people who raised you -- the ones who whipped out the Polaroid every time you spit on their shoulder or burped into the phone to Grandma. They suffered through your days of student driverhood and a lifetime of dependence upon them. In other words, when you said "gimme," their wallet became empty.

What a glorious moment for Mom and Dad when "College Child" is going to graduate. No more laundry, no more books, no more unbalanced checkbooks. Be assured. If they never asked you career-type questions before, they will now.

"So, did you get a job, yet?"

"No, Dad. I'm still waiting to hear from a few companies."

"How about a place to live?"

"Can't do that until I get a job, Dad."

"How long until you know?"

"I don't know, Dad. Maybe a month."

You will notice that Dad will race to the calendar and mark the date in red. Meanwhile, Mom will tell you "There's always a place at home for you," but will also mention in the same breath that her corns are killing her and how light the laundry load is since you moved out of the house.

Enough said. Let's move on to friends.

Friends are a rare breed. These are the people who encourage you to do wild and crazy things -- things that would render your parents speechless, to the point of being almost comatose. In other words, friends are the number one source of fun and prime entertainment.

Beware. That will all change when you become a graduating senior. You may get gripes and whines like:

"You're no fun anymore."

"You're always busy."

"Is that the only suit you own?"

If your friends are also graduating seniors, you have a new set of problems. Suddenly, the song "Memories" will be the only one you play at parties. You will even forgo the usual drinking games to reminisce about the time you were chased by rabid squirrels at the mall and ran into an oak tree.

On a serious note, you may find yourself thinking about The Big Chill and how true it is: eventually, people have to go their separate ways.

At this point, it would seem fitting to let loose with a primal scream. But save it for later. You can always go on a Bar Tour.

Remember this, though. Once you land a job and find a place to live, the questions and concerns of your parents and friends will slowly fade away. Your parents will visit and tell you your apartment is a mess.Your friends will send you occasional letters and tell you that dust builds character.

The last phase of PGS is reserved for six months after you graduate: The Loan Officer Encounter.

The loan officer is that benevolent old soul who cackled with glee during the four, five or six years you signed your life away at Shields. Occasionally you would get a lovely little form letter that read, "I am proud to be your lender," and in subsequent sentences, "you currently owe me (fill in the blanks)."

Once you graduate, it's a different story. Within six months, you will find a cheery little note in the mail, wishing you well as you enter the real world. At the end of the note, however, you will find an encouraging blurb that screams, ''I wish you dead if you do not pay me back."

Take heed, undergrads. You have some time to kill.

Start biting your nails, seniors. We've only got seven weeks to go.