This is the week it all comes down to, the one all interested eyes have been focused on for many months, the week that brings lofty promises and dashed dreams, the end of one road and the beginning of another.

Hold it, you say; the Pennsylvania primary is still three weeks away. True, but this isn't about politics -- at least, not the presidential kind. It's the week when the nation's colleges send out the last of their fat envelopes full of congratulatory letters, forms and bumper stickers, as well as the dreaded thin letters of apology and regret.

April 1 is the target date a lot of schools set for informing applicants of their decisions. That means students who skipped early decision so that they could keep their options open have probably heard from some picks in the past week and will hear from the rest in the next few days.

Nobody calls this process an election, but it sure does resemble one.

High school seniors are the candidates, campaigning for acceptance on the basis of their grades, SAT scores, activities and essays. College admissions officers are the voters who decide who's in and who's out for the next four years.

College counselors are the campaign surrogates. Parents are the contributors and financiers. There are even lobbyists in some cases -- for top athletes and other superstars -- although if anyone out there has found a way to get special-interest money to finance their "normal" kid's college quest, I'd like to know about it.

The big difference, though, is a reversal in numbers. Instead of a few hopefuls seeking the votes of millions, it involves millions of hopefuls seeking the votes of a few admissions officers.

You think you're burned out on the anxiety of the Democratic primary and want it to be over? Not to dismiss your pain, but it's a hiccup compared with the pressure on kids who've been on this road for the past year and are now sweating out the last few days with nothing to do but wait. I mean, a presidential election only determines the country's direction for four years hence, while a lot of folks seem to think that college admission determines a teenager's entire future -- despite all evidence to the contrary.

(This newsroom, for example, has graduates of large public universities working alongside alumnae of elite private colleges. You'd be hard-pressed to know which was which on the basis of their work or income level, but try telling that to a 17-year-old with his heart set on an exclusive school. Then again, that 17-year-old probably wants to make sure he never has to work in a newsroom as it will not bring him his first $10 million by age 22, so this might not be the best argument for my case. But you get my drift.)

As if you couldn't tell, my family is among those checking the mailbox each day. Most of the verdicts are in, however, and that means most of the pressure is off. It also releases me from the pact I made with myself last spring as a way of maintaining perspective and keeping anxiety at bay. It boiled down to this: I didn't discuss the details of my daughter's college search with most of the people who asked where she was applying. I decided that once she got her acceptances, I'd be happy to talk about them. But we've heard ad nauseam for the past year that this pool of applicants is the bulge moving through the boa constrictor. That makes every application a crap shoot, so there's no sense even going there until the outcome is known.

Of course, the questions were well-meaning, and many of the folks who asked were genuinely interested. But I found the mere act of talking about it nerve-racking. It felt like tempting fate, and I'm the kind of mother who wouldn't have a cradle in the house until after the baby was born. So running down a list of colleges seemed needlessly provocative.

I also wanted to avoid being drawn into a competition with other parents. It's natural for friends to discuss these things, but one day a parent I barely knew stopped me on the street and reeled off a list of schools the senior in the family was applying to. I found myself thinking, "I can't believe it ... this person is trying to intimidate me!" Now, it's quite possible that the parent intended no such thing and I was just being ridiculous. But from that point on, I avoided any conversation with even a hint of application one-upmanship, real or imagined.

Then, too, I was trying to respect my daughter's preference. College was Topic No. 1 among her peers, but it was also a shared experience. They were all in the same boat. Discussing it with adults was another story. Adults weren't fellow travelers like her friends; they were more like tourists.

She took to crossing the street when she saw adult acquaintances heading her way, the better to avoid the questions that they reflexively ask of high school seniors: Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? Do you have a first choice? Or a top two or three?

I plead guilty to this line of interrogation myself, having directed it at countless kids over the years. In fairness to us adults, it is the most obvious topic of discussion. But based on the past year's experience, I now regret it and am going to try very hard not to greet every teen I know with the third degree.

Until April 1, that is. Then I'll probably revert to form, because every election needs a result, including this one. Thank God it's almost over.