It's an awful feeling. And it hit me at the worst time. The daily, excruciating grind of writing my thesis had finally gotten to me. I found myself mired in an extreme case of writer's block.
It all started about a week ago. My thesis was going nowhere, I was beginning to develop a throbbing pain in my left thumb — carpal tunnel syndrome, anyone? — and it was a beautiful day outside: crystal-clear, sunny skies, a balmy 55 degrees. So I unplugged my computer, tossed away my notes and played basketball for the rest of the afternoon.
I returned to my computer and could not shake the feeling of disinterest in my thesis. I was about to start writing, when I realized that my roommate would turn 22 at midnight. That wouldn't do — he needed a proper celebration. And so it was 2 a.m., and I could've done the sane thing, called it a night, and started fresh in the morning. But where's the fun in that? We're sitting on my couch and complaining about our mundane lives and how we need a jolt of excitement. Then, someone comes up with the idea of going to Atlantic City. Next thing you know, six of us are piled into a truck and driving down the lonely New Jersey expressway. As we methodically yell out the words to "Steal My Sunshine," the air got palpably more electric and the adrenaline began to course through my veins. This is living! My thesis could wait another day; the lure of Lady Luck was too irresistible.
I didn't end up winning $10,000 — that'll have to wait until next time. But it sure beat the hell out of sleep. I spent the next day sporadically napping and lolling on the couch. I ate dinner and I was finally going to get serious and write. I would hole myself in a random library (maybe Geology), and I wouldn't leave until I had written a brilliant 20-page chapter.
Needless to say, that didn't happen. Thursday night out on the 'Street' is tough to resist, even as the ever-narrowing gap to my April 3 thesis deadline approaches. Somewhere between 4 a.m. and 5 a.m., I realized I had to leave for New York at 10 a.m. I made sure I caught the sunrise at 6:30 a.m. — who knows how many more sunrises I'll experience at Princeton, right? — slept in an alcohol-induced stupor for three hours, barely made my train and somehow stumbled through two hours of interviews.
Right, my thesis. I came back fairly exhausted and made a pact with myself. I'd sleep for three hours, wake up with a fresh and energetic attitude, lock myself in my carrel and write until I couldn't type anymore. I would finish that chapter if it killed me. Five hours later I woke up. After watching the second half of the Knicks game — I despise them yet I can't help myself — I was all set to begin. But fate intervened again. Someone uttered the magic words: karaoke night. As Billy Joel famously observed, "You're only human." Karaoke: tonight. Thesis: tomorrow. Karaoke wasn't made for sober people, and after singing renditions of "Sittin' On the Dock of the Bay" and "I Want It That Way," each progressively worse, I was in no state to write a paper or do anything else other than "laugh with the sinners" (no crying tonight).
It is now t-minus two days and counting since karaoke night. The thesis sits on my computer screen, mocking me, as I open my crusty eyes and peer through the morning haze. Sleep deprivation and hangovers have taken their respective tolls. Tonight it is another roommate's birthday. What's with all these February births anyway? I'll celebrate with him because, dammit, I'm a senior in college and I deserve to spend my last few months at Princeton wasting the night away with my friends. I've turned procrastination into an art form. Slowly I edge closer to the April 3 precipice. Will I ever finish that chapter? Will I really complete my thesis? I don't care, or at least I keep telling myself that as I put off my thesis for yet another night. Party on, Wayne! Steve Feldstein is a politics major from Bloomington, Ind. He can be reached at feldsten@princeton.edu.
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