Let me make this clear: I do not want to leave Loyola.

I like this place and you people too much.

Considering that most of my columns have been somewhat biting and sarcastic, I’ll answer your question before you ask it: Yes, it’s hurting my fingers to type the word “like.” Yes, I know admitting that I love Loyola is going to completely mess up my image as a violent, pessimistic, jaded news robot who enjoys pain. Wait, what?

I’ve made fun of people who are on the five- or six-year plan to graduate. But, then again, I make fun of everyone.

I’ve been thinking that maybe they’re right.

I would like nothing more than to stay an extra year to learn another language, study abroad, give a thumbs-up to Apathetic Jesus on the way to class, make more friends, build a shrine in honor of Dr. Ross, get involved in other organizations and continue on my path to world – I mean, college – domination.

Don’t let my progressive values fool you. I fear change. And the last year has been a whole mess of change and disruption and chaos in my life, as well as in the lives of many people in New Orleans. Obviously, I’m not saying the “K” word.

So, I want to stay here and have acquaintances greet me when I walk across campus. I want to have parties to attend. I want to have friends to hang out with. I want to be able to complain about the food in the O.R. without having to explain that I’m not referring to a hospital. I want to be able to criticize Residential Life, its policies and its power-tripping student workers.

There are only a few things to complain about, though, one of which I’ve eliminated by moving Uptown. I vividly remember my frantic searches for a parking spot in the garages during the first semester of my freshman year.

After that, it was uphill. The people here are extraordinary. Most professors are helpful and available to students. The issues discussed on campus are varied, interesting and often controversial. Student organizations have more than two things going on at any given moment. There’s no reason to be bored.

Unfortunately, my scholarship lasts only four years. Or so they tell me. I’m not really good at math, but I’ve gathered enough to know I don’t have the money to pay full tuition.

Not that I don’t feel prepared to work in the communications field. I’m ready for that part of the so-called “real world.” This is because I am good at beginnings, but I don’t do endings well. I’m looking forward to working at a daily paper, but I’d much rather stay at The Maroon. Even if it means doing 24 more Wednesday press nights that last until all hours of the morning.

Goodbye, good luck and thanks for reading. Tell your mothers I said hello, since they’re the ones who e-mail me.

Oh, and one more thing.

Joe Lobo Jr. is Chuck Alexander.