I hate this feeling of guilt. The worst part about feeling guilty is that if I didn’t feel guilty, I would have no motivation to do my schoolwork and would have failed out years ago. But why do I feel bad right now? I mean, we’re all gonna die anyway, so what’s the point? I called my friend Mike because he always had the right idea, and plus it would help me procrastinate that much longer …

“Do you think I waited too long this time?”

“When’s it due, bro?”

“15 minutes.”

“How many pages?”

“Five.”

“You’re fine, dude. Plenty of time.”

“Really? Awesome. Thanks, Mike.”

And even after Mike’s encouraging sentiment, I realized I couldn’t finish this paper. It’s too hard. People don’t know how stressful it is to be a student. Then again, some people have jobs where they could die at any moment, like king crab fishermen. God, those guys have it so hard. Instead of working on my paper I took the time to search online for images of king crabs for a minute or so.

“Maybe I should just do it,” I thought.

I opened a new blank document on Microsoft Word and typed my name. Twelve point font, Times New Roman: perfect. Before I began my paper I just wanted to see what my name looked like in Wingdings font. It was amazing. I wondered if the Zimmerman telegram was written in Wingdings. I searched online to find out.

It was time for a break. I went into the kitchen to find a snack. I wasn’t hungry, but at that moment finding a snack seemed more important than typing my paper. I brought back a glass of water and a stick of butter to my desk and proofread what I had so far:

“Paper Title Goes Here”

Ten minutes left. I started typing and felt the emotion pouring from my fingertips; they were soaked with emotion. Then I noticed that I had actually knocked over the glass of water onto the stick of butter, and my fingers were in fact soaked with buttery water. I didn’t let it faze me. The words continued to flow, just like the buttery water had flowed onto my laptop. Page 1: done! Page 2: a breeze. Page 3: good, not great, but still pretty solid. It was the Scottie Pippen of my paper.

I ran out of things to say, however, and to scrounge up more material was going to take a massive amount of effort. I lost focus, and the only way I could finish it was to go to the computer lab where the diligent atmosphere would suck me in. So I ran there, logged on and began typing again. Things started well, but within a couple of minutes, I fell into a deep depression. I looked around at everyone staring into the computer screens in front of them, slogging along to complete the final words of their papers. Is this where we wanted to be? I didn’t really care about this paper, so would I ever care about anything? My existential breakdown caused me to convulse on the keyboard, which actually led to a pretty decent conclusion paragraph.

With one minute left, I clicked the print button. I couldn’t believe I managed this ordeal. Mike was right as usual. I went to pick up my paper, but for some reason it wasn’t there. According to the printing queue, I was 147th in line to get a printout.

“Can you guys print 147 documents in under a minute?” I asked the guy with the sweater vest.

“No.”

I couldn’t believe that I didn’t finish my paper in time. I also couldn’t believe that before I couldn’t believe I had managed this ordeal.

I trudged to class, empty-handed and crushed. I looked my professor in the eyes and confessed the truth: “Everyone in my family died.”

“What’s that?” he responded.

I sighed. “I didn’t finish my paper in time.”

“No worries. You can bring your paper to my office hours up until four o’clock today.”

It was a miracle! I had time to finish my paper and take control of my life! Never again would I wait until the last minute to do an assignment. I had achieved the full character arc I always wanted.

That class I took the most diligent notes I’d ever taken. Not one instance of doodling. I asked questions, and my professor even called me Mr. Klein, possibly because he didn’t know my first name, but more likely because he had grown a deep amount of respect and affection for me. I was the son he never had, except for the two sons he had and often talked about in class. I was the other son he never had.

After class, I headed straight back to the computer lab, reopened the file and began writing the paper that would change my life. By 2:15, I had nearly completed it.

Page 1: perfect; literally no better way to start a paper. Page 2: better than page 1. It punched page 1 in the face. Page 3 crapped all over pages 1 and 2. It was nearly complete, but I noticed an important quote, essential to holding together the fabric of this tightly sewn paper, which had not been properly cited. I recognized it, but I wasn’t sure which book I got it from. If I was going to find it I’d have to look through all those pages. So many pages … I didn’t feel like doing it. Oh no, that guilty feeling. It was back.

I was smarter than it this time, though. I ignored it and began checking my email and playing solitaire. By the time 3:45 rolled around, I knew just who to call …

Dan Klein, a senior in the College of Communication, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].