For the student, it is the equivalent of the classical descent into hell: Aanight of paper writing. Madness and insanity await, and when you return to the light, you may not even remember the stream-of-consciousness babble now constituting your paper.
Perhaps it is better to forget: the struggle is always long and difficult, full of trials and tribulations, pain, guilt and fire-breathing dragons finally culminating in the painful acceptance that it is no longer in your hands (and hopefully, if you came out alive, it is in the mail box of your professor by 5 p.m.). Here is an honest memoir of someone who recently has undergone the journey.
4 p.m. the day before the paper is due: it's been worse. Once I didn't actually write my first sentence until after midnight. I have plenty of time, and ten pages of notes that should be worth something.
5 p.m.: I've written so little that I don't even deserve to "save as" under some fun, inspiring file name. The word document is still pathetically entitled "Document 1" as a spiteful masochistic indication of my ineptitude.
6 p.m.: definitely time for dinner. Why can't I just get a tape recorder and talk about my paper and turn in the tape?
6:30 p.m.: I had to leave the table because my roommates decided to show how much they care by yelling at me to get back to work and to stop procrastinating. I am NOT procrastinating.
7:30 p.m.: I have just read through all my college diaries. Come to the sudden, terrifying realization that I have lived my life entirely wrong. Therefore, obviously, I had to take a few more minutes to express and record this important revelation in the manner of Bridget Jones. Perhaps now is also the time to set up a new workout schedule (well, not really new, because it doesn't replace the old workout schedule, but rather the non-existent one).
8:30 p.m.: I have written four different introductory paragraphs. I am obsessive-compulsive about opening paragraphs and cannot continue with paper unless it is perfect. If I try to valiantly skip the intro, there will be this gnawing devilish whisper of a feeling "your first paragraph sucks," that will repeat itself until I go insane and throw myself out the window
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