Actually, not so bad a week -- not yet, anyway. True to form, the final paper's due to the committee (well, to two of them anyway -- I get the distinct impression that two really want to see some significant changes, one wants to see some minor revisions, and one probably hasn't done more than skim the first draft I gave him two weeks ago. Fortunately, the latter prof's the chair, and the one signing the final copy), and I still have quite a way to go tomorrow. Which suits me fine -- got the day off, so here's what happens:
Get up, go running for the first time in days and try to work off all the freakin' nervous food I've been pounding over the past few days.
Go to a coffee shop -- maybe Bentley's, maybe Ground Floor, maybe Coffee Xchange -- and irrigate my bloodstream with enough nerve juice to keep me in a rictus grin until lunch. Do work.
Go to the library. Do work. Eat another pack of Starburst and hope I don't become diabetic before my paper's done.
Carry 80-lb milk crate full of books back and forth from car to third floor of library. Develop hernia in last good inguinal canal.
Call committee member and ask him what the hell that reference he gave me has to do with my paper.
Become annoyed with punk-ass 20-year-old at table next to me for breathing too loud.
Try to ignore siren song of Cardinals' internet broadcast for three hours. Try to get it through my head that listening to the play-by-play will not affect the outcome of the game.
Curse myself for not having written more the night before. Which, I guess, is tonight.
Song in my head at the moment: "Lonesome Sundown" by the Halo Benders. Like a cowboy ballad sung by Matt Turley with a cold. Great stuff!
And I never snorted coke off a runaway's ass (re: comments from a few days ago). It's those things we never dared to do that we regret.