Nothing can get your ambitions revved more than the threat of a high school reunion.

During spring break, my friends had to bring my week of unadulterated laziness to a screeching halt with the mention of a five-year reunion. Without hesitation, out came my senior yearbook with its gag-me-with-a-spoon title, “Looking Back on the Years,” and I began a quick, wheezing sprint down memory lane. I flipped through the pages peppered with pimply adolescents sporting poofy bangs and flashing smiles that screamed, “My teeth cost two grand to straighten!”

I couldn’t believe how young (and happy) my friends and I looked as we were captured in fun poses hamming it up in front of our lockers, sitting at some sporting event or just plain being a part of the whole high school scene. It seemed like ages ago when I was running through those hallways late for class or scarfing down the ever-scrumptious bagel cheddarwursts that were, unbelievably, a lunchtime favorite.

Because I’ve been working so diligently (yeah, right) at getting my B.A. in b.s. this May, I’ve been consumed by the scary thoughts of life outside a school setting. It hadn’t occurred to me that five years have come and gone, even though I proudly carry the title of “super senior.”

Because I was hoping I wouldn’t see anyone until 2006, I’ve allowed these five buffer years to pass as my procrastination period, with plans of achieving undaunted success at the nine- or 10-year mark. How can I walk into my high school gym this summer without 100 grand in my purse, a Mercedes Benz in the parking lot and Ben Affleck on my arm? At this point in my life, I have nothing to brag about except my vast collection of used textbooks and my success at retaining my “freshman 15” through the years, which I don’t think will impress anyone.

I then began tossing around the idea of simply skipping the whole thing. Flashbacks of intimidating bullies and a harsh social hierarchy began to surface. I began to look past the carefully-selected yearbook candids and recall what I really remembered about high school: I hated most of it.

Teachers always told my class that we’d remember the good times when we looked back. I do remember the good times, which involved seeing my closest friends through eight continuous hours of non-college prep classes, frantic locker runs and various blow-off assemblies. I remember the blissful day of getting behind the wheel of the driver’s ed car with the terrified instructor who had his own brake pedal. And I remember the football and basketball games when the school had a contagious spirit, and we students had our own party in our section of the bleachers.

But the teachers never mentioned that we’d remember the tough times. Maybe from their position, kids our age weren’t supposed to have tough times, but we did.

I remember my peers and me trying to define or uncover who we were and fighting or accepting the labels that covered us more than the brand names on our clothing. If you were lucky, your label got you special privileges, such as homework leniency, a spot on the royal court at dances or legendary status as big man/woman on campus.

For the rest, demeaning labels garnered four long years of dealing with insults, learning that popular students get a lot of breaks and wondering when the time would come when those on the bottom would rise to the top.

Because I was fortunate enough to attend college, I learned that labels don’t have to stick.

The fact that you can walk through this campus and no one knows who you are or could care less about your business is freeing & so much that for some time now, I forgot that I had a label during those impressionable years of my life.

A small part of me wants to go to this reunion with something to show off, such as a fancy career title, respectable social status or just an all-around comfortable lifestyle.

But the rest of me doesn’t care anymore, or at least doesn’t want to care anymore. For me, high school was four years of awkwardness spent avoiding people who ridiculed me for simply being myself. The days of hiding or trying to gain other’s approval are unattractive to me now.

After having a couple weeks to think about if I want to attend one of these reunions, whether this summer or in the future, I’m pretty much for keeping those four years where they belong: in the past. I’m sure most of my peers have changed since the day we walked in our school colors of gold and blue to collect our diplomas, but I don’t know these people anymore, and I don’t think I ever really did. I’ve kept in touch with the people I’ve wanted to keep contact with over the years, and vice versa.

So, I guess when that lovely invitation arrives in its pretty envelope, I’ll read it, but then, I’ll forget about it. Why do I need to re-live or add to memories that are already captured forever within my yearbook?

I have better things to do now & like win the heart of Ben Affleck.