7 p.m. (nine hours awake)
Dinner was accompanied by the realization that you’re running out of time to do that one philosophy essay that is due tomorrow morning. But it’s okay, you don’t usually go to bed until two a.m. anyway and that’s seven hours away. It’ll all be alright.
8 p.m. (ten hours awake)
Okay, last Buzzfeed quiz. You just really need to know which shirtless Zac Efron you are. Maybe make a cup of coffee to really get the juices flowing.
8:30 p.m. (ten and a half hours awake)
Name down, title set. That’s already like one-fourth of the page. Pat yourself on the back because you, truly, are killing it. Time for a “Mad Men” break, and then you’ll get right to work.
9:20 p.m. (eleven hours and twenty minutes awake)
Wait, that was really good. Maybe one more episode.
10:30 p.m. (twelve hours and a half awake)
Alright, let’s get down to business (…to defeat the huns! Wow, you are a laugh riot). Time to do this essay. Keep double spacing it after every couple sentences to see if it magically fills six pages.
11:11 (thirteen hours and eleven minutes awake)
Wish that the world ends so you don’t have to turn this essay in.
12:00 a.m. (fourteen hours awake)
You obviously need some brain food to keep you going. You realize you don’t have anything but olives and ketchup in your fridge. Mac ‘n’ cheese it is.
12:05 a.m. (fourteen hours and five minutes awake)
The mac ‘n’ cheese wasn’t enough. You dip the olives in the cheese and crack open your fanciest bottle of two buck chuck. It’s basically a makeshift wine and cheese night, right?
12:15 a.m. (fourteen hours and fifteen minutes awake)
You decide a liquid diet is best and finish your bottle while wandering into the depths of your week-old Facebook archives. This also seems like an appropriate time to get a Twitter, LinkedIn (starting your professional profile is a great excuse to not write your essay), Pinterest, and revisit Myspace. When all your friends are gone, Tom will always be there. PC4PC?
2:00 a.m. (sixteen hours, kind-of, awake)
You wake up with olives in your hair and drool on your face and realize that dream where you finished and turned in the paper is not your reality. Crying and existential crises ensue. Use your rug to wipe away your tears and make a cup of tea.
3:00 a.m. (seventeen hours awake)
You’re wrapped in a blanket, rocking back and forth and find yourself subconsciously whimpering. The only thought going through your brain is “why me?” As you continue writing, you begin hearing noises. Are they coming from your stomach? Are they coming from your walls? Was your apartment built on a graveyard of past Isla Vistan partiers? You imagine taking a shot with the skeletons as they give an inspirational toast on how none of this matters once you’re dead. You pat yourself on the back as you struggle with the spelling of utilitarianism.
4:00 a.m. (eighteen hours awake)
You pour instant coffee into your cold mint tea and stir it with your pen. It tastes like your soul dying. You wonder where birds go to die. You imagine yourself taking another shot for your fallen, feathered friends.
6:00 a.m. (twenty hours awake)
You’re three-fourths of the way done. You realize that half the paper is filled with philosophical puns. You Kant imagine writing any longer.
8:00 a.m. (twenty-two hours awake)
As you continue your pity party of one, you realize it has turned into a full-blown rager. The guests of said rager are no longer limited to just you and your new imaginary friends, they include your talking sofa and your twerking lamps. Oh look, is your toaster smoking a joint? Pass that shit to the left.
9 a.m. (twenty-three hours awake)
You’ve bullshitted your final paragraph and editing is proving to be difficult. It’s challenging to look at words when everything on the screen has blended together and there’s a high-pitched ringing in your ear. You start thinking in hashtags. You decide to just print it and turn it in. If you fail and drop out, you know there’s space for you in the graveyards under your apartment because that’s exactly where you’re going when your parents find out.
9:15 a.m. (twenty-three hours and fifteen minutes awake)
You stumble outside to turn in your paper and are blinded by the light. The outside world is a mess. The economy is unstable and so are you. You spend five minutes trying to unlock the wrong bike and once you get on yours you realize you’re a hazard to all. You keep thinking you see your mom walking by, and the face of every person looks like someone you went to high school with. You have a conversation with someone (if you can call your jumbled-up words that) while convinced she’s your lab partner the whole time. Turns out she wasn’t.
9:45 a.m. (twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes awake)
You manage to find your class, turn in that essay and race home. The only philosophy you’re interested in is the philosophy of sleep. You look in the mirror and realize the bags under your eyes are large enough to carry your groceries. You roll into bed and after fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, you realize you’re too tired to actually go to sleep. You don’t feel anything at this point and your face is stuck in one facial expression. You wonder why you never see taxi cabs getting gas.
11:00 a.m. (twenty-five hours awake)
After an hour of determination, your eyes give up. You fall into the deepest depths of hibernation as visions of J.S. Mill with Zac Efron’s abs dance in your head.