Calzone

There comes a point when you look at the essay that's due tomorrow, think, "Oh my God, I can't remember what I just wrote two minute ago...and I'm not entirely sure it was two minutes ago or forty...", save what you've written, and resolve to finish/edit it before class tomorrow. You still have time.

It's really not that late - it hasn't even clicked over to midnight yet. Today was my day to sleep in, I only had one class, and the only thing of product I did was write three more pages on my mother-of-all papers due Monday for American Lit. I have no reason to be tired. But I can barely hold my eyes open. Except Sam is singing "Rent" from the shower. She keeps me from falling asleep, but not in the state of mind that will get me a good grade on my paper. Whatever I write won't be worth it.

By all accounts I should have no drive to write for myself. It's Tuesday - last week of classes before finals - and I've already written two complete papers and five pages of the American Lit doozy. Presentation tomorrow morning, two papers due tomorrow afternoon, paper due Friday, paper AND presentation due Monday, three final exams and two final papers next week. I mapped it out in my planner over the weekend, and it sounded much worse then than it does now that I'm actually knee-deep in it. As my dad says, "One day at a time, one project at a time." In my case, one headache at a time. I talked to a few friends who are engineering majors, and they moan their calculus, C++ (something design-related, I think - they've explained it to me several times and I still don't get it), and computer courses. One said (a little arrogantly as I conveyed my paper-writing woes), "I had to write my second paper of the semester this week." I glared at him and wondered if it was too late to switch out of the English department.

Of course, I have a prime example of "slave till it's done" dedication about six feet from my desk. My roommate, who is one of the most driven people I know, will say what she has to do without necessarily whining, as I tend to do. She puts me to shame with her constant good mood, her nose-to-the-grindstone-even-if-it-means-losing-my-nose mentality, and, above all, her ability to stay up until dawn's early light and still keep going. Last week she was averaging three or four hours of sleep a night. For a straight week. She's a veritable machine. That's one thing that sets me apart from most college students I know: I am physically incapable of pulling an all-nighter. (I did once, though completely not school-related: I went to the midnight premiere of "The Hunger Games," and since we weren't allowed back on campus until after curfew was lifted, we drove around until 5 in the morning. Since I had class at 8 I decided not to go to bed. My own dedication shone through when my 8am class was cancelled and I still managed to survive until 10 that night with only about an hour of sleep. I said I would do it, I did it, and I'll probably never do it again "just for the heck of it.") I've tried, I really have. I sit at my desk, staring at my computer, thinking, "It's one in the morning and I have just started this paper, I can do this." About 1.45 I wake up in circus-like positions in my desk chair, with nothing grand at all about my paper except that I spelled my name correctly in such a condition. So for every night in two years (except one last year), I have gone to bed before my roommate. Before I drop off, I shrink under the covers in shame: "I should be working, I should be at my desk doing something. I don't have anything else due tomorrow, but there's gotta be something I can work ahead on into the wee hours."

But after about 12.30, I start to be useless, and by the time 1am rolls around, I'm completely out of it. Unfortunately, tonight is one of those nights when my useless phase hits at midnight, and I'm the grandma of the unit, calling it a night while others have just begun.

Another night of shame, I guess. -_-