Rainclouds shuffle in like soldiers, big, heavy, looming; heavy with burden and held aloft only by God. Their names are Stress, Anxiety, and Laziness; their drizzles are brief moments of panic as due dates draw near; and their thunder and lightning are the text messages and phone alarms that jar Leila awake when she dozes off.
It’s midnight when she shoots awake at her desk and finds that she drooled all over her reading—which, yes, extremely graceful, she is most definitely the beauty of the night—and it’s midnight when Leila rubs at her eyes and sits up on her chair and blinks at her laptop screen. Oh, good. Apparently she got the date and her name down before she conked out.
The rain batters down against her window. She kind of wishes the electricity will go out, if only for an excuse to not work on her assignments for a minute longer. Better check if there’s a flood warning, just in case…
It’s the last Thursday of classes, and Leila has a to-do list. It’s long, and the things on it even longer, but Leila, of course, didn’t have the tenacity to plan ahead. So now she’s sitting on:
- one (1) 15-page research paper
- two (2) 5-page papers, 1.25 margins, single spaced
- one (1) group project for presentation on a monday morning, and her group members haven’t responded to her emails, which is fun
- three (3) finals, two of which are at 8 A.M.
- and about twenty (20) hours of sleep that she has to catch up on, because that marathon of Community was totally worth it
And, well, you know, now she gets to pay the price, ’cause there’re more than two cups of expensive coffee in her trash and a whole assortment of books and sources spread out on her desk, skimmed, printed, highlighted, and ready to be Chicago Styled… as soon as she, you know, actually gets to writing about them.
Okay. Focus. It’s not that hard, she just has to get in the mood and crank something out. Closing that tab of Twitter she left open is probably a good start.
Leila reads what she has so far, and, hey it looks pretty good. She’s farther off than she expected, actually, maybe she can take a break—
—Oh, God, when did it become 1:32AM?
Here’s to the final stretch, Insha’Allah.