Nothing is half-full at 2:30 in the morning.

Unfortunately, that sentiment held true for my cup of coffee as well. Its
temperature had dropped to an unappetizing degree, but I downed the remains
anyway.

My task was simple: read 450 wills written by my classmates — a written testament passed from a senior to a younger friend — at the tail end of our senior year.

This was one of the longest nights of my life.

My problem was their dirty, vile minds. I was reading over them to check for any covert (or, for my less subtle classmates, overt) references to sex, drugs or alcohol. This job was a dull one. I honestly couldn’t care less that the girl who sat behind me in algebra freshman year wants to give Katie “Locker E243,” but that didn’t change the fact that someone had to check all of them, and that this someone was me.

But I had only knocked out 100 or so, and that was not a good place to be with the clock nearing 3. I was running on two cups of hazelnut coffee and a rice cake, and though I’m living proof that the human body is physically able to operate on such fuel, it is certainly not the most efficient method.

Although the caffeine was working, what I really needed was sleep. And I _really_ needed sleep. Bad. However, pretty early on in the evening, I recognized the futility in that dream. It took a concentrated effort to not curl up next to my dog stuffed animal and drift away; but, and I don’t know how, I was able to focus and push past and forward.

The work did, in time, get completed — around 6 a.m. The wills were read, references to “getting drunk, getting crunk, [M]exico 2010!!!” were deleted, and I could at least feel good about that.

What I didn’t afford myself the ability to feel good about, though, was pretty much anything else. My heart rate had to be well over it’s natural resting place, which felt ironic given the fact that my energy was at an all time low, as apparently notching zero minutes of sleep isn’t conducive to feeling chipper.

My body yearned for anything with the compound H20 in it, preferably one that wouldn’t further my crippling dehydration, but I wasn’t going to be picky. That water tasted better than any liquid I’d ever drank in my entire life.