Are you a freshman? If so, bug off. This column isn’t meant for you. Go and read something else. Better yet, run along and play with your toys or do whatever the hell it is you kids do these days. The following is meant for grown ups.

When I say grown ups, I (of course) mean graduate students. And by graduate students, I mean real ones, not lame-ass co-terms, swishy business school types, earnest medics or smug lawyers. In fact, even master’s students might not really count.

No, this week’s words of welcoming wisdom are for the new arrivals in grad school, flush with knowledge and ready to embark on an epic journey to the land of P, h and D. I bet you’re all very excited.

Don’t be. Your life is over. No matter how you feel right now, it will get worse. Without question you will soon be regretting you decision to immerse yourself in another fix, six, seven, eight, nine, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 or more years of study.

Now, some may disagree with me. It is certainly true that many people enjoy their time in graduate school. But these people are strange. Either way, it doesn’t matter how much fun you end up claiming to have had — some things are true for everyone.

You will regret coming to grad school. You will resent your friends who got real jobs and make money. You will dream about leaving. You will frequently wonder what contribution your pointless research is making to the world. You will wonder where the fun went.

Helping you along on the path to misery are undergraduates. Although one would like to dismiss the vermin as prototype humans, not yet fully-formed and imbued with the viciousness of children, they do have a tendency to dominate campus life.

Misery is always a little more miserable if one is forced to watch tall, tanned and often semi-naked boys and girls frolic joyfully across White Plaza.

I hate it when other people are happy.

Many things change as you grow up. Some body parts swell, other wither away. Wisdom is accumulated whilst open-mindedness dribbles away. Prejudice replaces reason and resignation rules over hope.

Though such changes are universal — the disintegration of the Self is inexorable — there are some transitions that require the particular mix of the pointless and the pretentious only graduate school can provide.

Take, for example, money. Generally, as one grows up, one makes more and more money. I think they call it career progression. Now, one also spends more and more money (that’s called a desperate attempt to buy happiness) as the years pile on. And herein lies the problem.

We all want to be part of that spending group. You’re 23. You should have a nicer car, softer sheets, fluffier pillows, decent shoes and so on. But you can’t. Instead of getting richer, you’re becoming poorer.

Scraping by on a meagre stipend does not lend itself to indulging in a taste for the finer things in life. Like food. Or clothes.

On the bright side, at least you’re in Palo Alto. Despite its obvious wealth (check out the high-end rug and hi-fi shops on University Avenue), it’s actually very hard to spend money in this town (unless, of course, you have a rug and/or hi-fi fetish). This is mostly because Palo Alto is really, really, really boring.

Unfortunately, the terrifying dullness of your new hometown does have its downside — there’s basically nothing to do. Luckily, though, on-campus entertainment is plentiful. From BBQs to BBQs to BBQs, the whirlwind social scene will have you enthralled for literally an hour or two.

Now, don’t fret too much. Although you will be socially frustrated, you will soon grow used it. In a couple of weeks, you’ll start to get excited about the GSC parties and forget what real fun actually is.

Anyway, I don’t want to overwhelm you with positive thoughts, so I’ll sign off now. Just make sure you remember the following: All good things must come to end, and this is the end.

Disagree with my uplifting tone? Think that perhaps things are not as rosy as I’m making out? Email your complaints to navins@stanford.edu.