This is satire.

There is no better feeling than being up at 4 a.m. furiously typing away on the keyboard desperately trying to finish the first major essay of the year.

Four hours prior I realized I was in for a long night when I came across a tiny notation on my iCalendar stating “ESSAY DUE.”

My body was not ready for this. My mind was not ready for this. But like all college students, I was ready to power through it.

I shifted into all-nighter mode.

I put on my one inch thick glasses, gathered my wet hair into an atrocious bun and put on my study pants: a full body gray sweatsuit.

I do a couple jumping jacks. I get my blood flowing. I chug two Monsters and immediately regret that I did jumping jacks before drinking those so quickly.

I’m pumped. The adrenaline is flowing just like my thoughts.

I sit down in front of my laptop, look over my notes and annotations then wing it.

My fingers race across the keypad. I try to be as concise and factual as possible. I’m feeling good about myself. The introduction is strong; my thesis is clear. I optimistically think I’ll be done by 6 a.m.

Then writer’s block hits.

I have about eight pages done and 12 more to go. I start panicking. I begin referring to myself in third person and think aloud.

“Why didn’t I start this sooner? Why doesn’t Wikipedia count as a real source? Do I know how to format APA from memory?”

I answer myself.

“Because you’re an idiot, Olivia.” “No.” “And no.”

I then teach myself how to format APA for all my sources and find renewed confidence.

The sun peaks through my shutters. I’m racing against time, my 8 a.m. approaching steadfast while I fluster to conclude my assignment.

I string a generic ending together, summarizing and applying my point of view for this whole paper into a clunky paragraph.

I feel ambivalent. I’m semi-proud of myself for finishing this while hating myself for not starting it earlier.

My printer spits out my “essay.” I staple the pages and bibliography together and rush to get ready.

The sweatpants are off. My Lulus are on. The glasses and messy bun stay intact and I power walk like no other Olympic power walker has before.

8:00 a.m. I arrive to class and look around the room as the other students turn in their essays. Some look hopeful, some look confident, but I pick out a few that look just like me. Delirious. Tired, but feeling accomplished.

I choose a seat in the back of the classroom. I pull out my notebook and open to a fresh page. Pen in hand, I proceed to fall asleep with my eyes open and thank God he blessed me with a talent for pulling all-nighters.