11:59 P.M.

The clock on my desk blinked 6:42 p.m., its red digits glaring at me like a judgmental professor. I stared back, slouched in my chair, surrounded by empty soda cans and the crumpled remnants of snack wrappers. My laptop was open, the cursor blinking on a blank Word document. My political science paper was due in five hours and seventeen minutes. The math quiz? Same deadline. And what had I done all weekend? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

This wasn’t the plan. Why hadn’t I just stuck to the plan? Friday night, I told myself I deserved a break after a long week of classes. Saturday morning, I slept in because, well, it was Saturday. Saturday afternoon turned into a cleaning day, and by Saturday night, well, it was Saturday night. Was I not supposed to go out? Sunday. I told myself that Sunday was the perfect day to get everything done. Now here I was—Sunday evening—wondering why Past Me hated Future Me so much. Between football and fighting a killer hangover, I should’ve known Sunday was not the day to start my homework. I should’ve just spent Friday night in the library like I planned.

I rubbed my face with both hands and groaned. “Okay, focus,” I muttered to myself. “Math first, then English.” It sounded simple enough in theory.

I clicked over to the math quiz tab on my browser. Ten questions. Multiple choice. Shouldn’t take too long, right? But as soon as I read the first problem—a word problem involving trains traveling at different speeds—I felt my stomach sink. Why did math always have to involve trains? Who even takes trains anymore? Why do I even care about trains at different speeds I’m a theater major.

I grabbed my notebook and started scribbling equations, trying to make sense of the mess of numbers and variables. Looking back at my notes was pointless; I never paid attention well enough to have useful notes. Halfway through solving it, I realized I’d made a mistake somewhere and had to start over. My brain felt like it was wading through molasses.

7:15 p.m.

One question down, nine to go.

This was going to take forever. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling momentarily, silently cursing myself for procrastinating yet again. I could hear my roommates in the living room yelling at the football game. I was tempted to reach for my phone and check to see how my fantasy team was doing, but that was a slippery slope. First, it’s checking the fantasy football app, then it’s reading whatever text messages I missed, then it’s looking at videos that my friends have sent me, and then before I know it, it’s 7:30. Oh, shit. It’s 7:30 I need to finish this quiz now.

Slowly but surely I chipped away at each question, occasionally glancing at the clock, watching the time tick away until finally—finally—I clicked “Submit” on the last question. 8/10, not bad.

8:23 p.m.

Time was moving faster than I wanted it to, but at least that was one thing off my plate.

I stretched my arms over my head and let out a deep breath before turning my attention to my paper for political science. 5 pages on what tariffs are and the pros and cons of them. A little on the nose, maybe, given the current state of the world, but my professor was not known for his subtlety.

I stared at the blinking cursor again, willing inspiration to strike. Nothing came.

“Okay,” I said aloud, trying to psych myself up. “You’ve read the book. You borrowed notes. You know what you’re talking about.” Except did I really? It had been weeks since the unit on tariffs, and I missed a lot of those days sick with a cold.

I opened a new tab and started googling. I found a quick 5-minute YouTube video about the history of tariffs. 5 minutes. I thought, I can spare that. I spent around 10 minutes total having to watch the video twice. No big deal, but writing had to start now.

9:00 p.m.

Two paragraphs written.

Panic started creeping in around the edges of my mind. At this rate, there was no way I’d finish in time. My heart raced as I imagined emailing my professor with some lame excuse about why my paper was late—again—and seeing that disappointed reply in return.

“Nope,” I said firmly, shaking my head as if to physically dispel those thoughts. “You’re not giving up.”

I grabbed another soda from the mini-fridge under my desk and took a long sip before diving back into the paper. One paragraph turned into two, then three. The words didn’t flow easily—they never did—but they were there on the page now instead of trapped in my head.

10:15 p.m.

Three pages done.

I was in a groove now; all the information from class was flowing through me. Nothing could stop me now. My roommates were done watching football; I could hear the disappointment signifying another loss for the home team, but I didn’t care. I was locked in. My back ached from sitting hunched over for so long, but there was no time for breaks now. Every second counted.

As I worked on page four, my phone buzzed with a notification from Instagram: “Your friend tagged you in a post.” Without thinking, I picked it up and opened the app—a picture of me and my friends from Friday night popped up. It was a good picture; not to toot my own horn, but I looked good. I should repost this. But not now. I tossed my phone onto my bed across the room where it couldn’t distract me anymore.

11:00 p.m.

Four pages done.

The finish line was so close now that I could almost taste it—and yet every word felt harder to write than the last. My brain felt like mush from all the caffeine and stress coursing through me.

“Just one more page,” I whispered to myself like a mantra as I typed furiously, barely pausing to think or breathe or proofread what I’d already written (something I likely won’t be able to do).

11:45 p.m.

Done!

I stared at the completed paper on my screen with equal parts relief and disbelief before quickly uploading it to the assignment portal online—and not a moment too soon because as soon as I hit submit…

11:58 p.m.

One minute left on the clock.

I leaned back in my chair with an exhausted sigh of relief as adrenaline drained out of me all at once like air escaping from a balloon—and then promptly burst into laughter because somehow (miraculously), against all odds (and against all common sense), I’d done it again: survived another self-inflicted race against time by sheer willpower alone…

12:00 a.m.

Jumping into my bed I grab my phone, fully free to scroll to my heart's content. I open Instagram, and my heart drops. My screen is blank; a small gray circle spins in the center of my screen. I closed the app and tried to open it again, but had no luck. I try to open Google. Same issue. I feel a tear welling up, I open my laptop, and am greeted by the same spinning circle.

The internet is out.