I absolutely love my college, and I love the community of Murray just as much. There are so many things that make going to school here special, from the lake to the local restaurants. Happy Hour at Mr. J's Bar and Grill never ceases to entertain me, and I'm always up for a chicken fajita bowl from Los Portales. As I get older, though, I'm starting to notice how much I've grown as a person—maybe even to the point that I'm outgrowing this small, Southern college town. With graduation in less than three months, here are some things I've noticed lately:

Every cute new guy I meet is 18.

You know what they say about freshmen: "I keep getting older and they stay the same age." That may be true, but I'll still wait until they can get into the bars without a fake ID.

All the older cute guys I know have dated one of my friends.

Or at least hooked up with someone I know...or a lot of girls I know. And sadly, we all know each other's business.

Every blond girl on campus has asked me for a copy of my ID.

And most of the time we don't even look alike. Besides, I'm going to be at the bar 99 percent of the time that you want to be there.

Every bartender, bouncer, and server knows my face.

If I'm not at Mr. J's by Thursday at 6 p.m., people start asking me where I'm at and if I'm okay. The waitresses know all my friends will be splitting pitchers and most likely eating mac and cheese bites once we're six beers deep.

Our new members (and sometimes fraternity pledges) have started calling me mom.

I'm 21. I'm not your mom. But please be careful and use the buddy system.

All of my classes are in one building.

You know you're at the end of your major's sequence when...

I own more Murray State and sorority T-shirts than I can fit in my dresser.

I tell myself I'll pass them down to my Littles...but remember that one time I was wearing this shirt and had the best day ever? There are more memories than I can count in those Comfort Colors.

My parents have started talking to me about weird things like "finances" and "loan payments."

Wait, I can't pay with Flex Dollars in real life? And my education wasn't free?

I'm known on campus by my Instagram handle.

But at least I get more likes than I did freshman year.

Nobody yells at me when I speak my mind at chapter meetings.

Because I'm a senior, and it's our job to share our wisdom (and complain).

Myself or my friends cry at least once a week because we have no idea how to adult.

I don't want a big-kid job. I want to stay in college forever.

Class is the least important part of my week.

Perfecting my resume, applying for jobs, and enjoying the short time I have left with my friends have taken top priority.

My Facebook newsfeed is filled with babies and engagements.

And it's even trickling into my Snapchat. Stop. I don't want to see your baby.

Speaking of social media, I check LinkedIn more than I check Twitter.

I am not a professional. This is a joke. And I don't think any of my "special skills" are very marketable.

I've discovered that hangovers are actually a real thing.

Wow, I miss my youth. All of a sudden, I can't pound beers like I used to without having these weird headaches on Friday morning.