It all started out so…normally. The sun rose way to early in the morning and woke the restful sleeper in her bed. “But that’s all right,” she though to herself, “You have to get up at 7:40 or so anyway, and now you will be able to get up easily.” Sure enough, despite a bit of tossing and turning, the girl seemed quite at peace. Eventually she glanced at her cell-phone alarm clock. It read 7:39. “One minute,” she thought, “and I am quite ready to get out of bed.” But as fate would have it, 60 seconds later the alarm sounded. But the girl was not awake. She, suddenly extremely exhausted, groped groggily and automatically to her phone and hit the snooze without really thinking about it. Five minutes later, with the force of sheer willpower, she crawled out of bed and stumbled into the shower.
Even the hot water didn’t help remove the grogginess. “Weird,” she thought, “Since when does an alarm clock make you MORE tired? Counter-intuitive.” The same old routine: quick towel off, brush teeth, put contacts in, throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and blow-dry hair. But in the kitchen there isn’t anything good to eat. So she cuts a slice of bread and throws a couple of pieces of ham on it. Then fate strikes for the second time that day. She grabs a bottle of diet coke, throws her computer and notebook in her purse, and heads for the door. Bad move. The whole bottle. Without transferring a small portion into a smaller bottle. 1.25 liters. With only a piece of bread in her stomach. REALLY bad move.
The lecture is thankfully cut short, but she still has to sit there in the lecture listening to the professor write about barely-understandable topics on the blackboard in even less-understandable handwriting. And as she sits there, the level in her coke bottle seems to sink centimeter by fateful centimeter. By 9:30, she definitely isn’t tired any more. But she still doesn’t really have a grip on her surroundings. Her brain doesn’t seem to want to function, but another part of her desperately wants to jump out of her skin. But she holds the beast in as she goes to work editing the English documentation for one of the computer science research projects. But after an hour of coordinating conjunctions, subordinating conjunctions, prepositional phrases and all of the other reasons that commas are misplaced or missing, her mind really is freaking. She keeps leaning back in her chair and rubbing her neck to try and think better, because it seems that editing is the hardest job in the world even though it is in her native tongue. Unfortunately, the content of the coke bottle is also slowly dropping in relation to her sanity.
Eventually, she has had enough. “Food!” she thinks, “I need food to balance all this crazyness.” So she goes downstairs and talks fifty miles and hour until the lines open up at the cafeteria. Quickly she rushes over. She practically inhales her food then heads over to her next lecture. The food has put the jitters in check and she attempts to get the rest out of her system by typing as fast as she can to try and copy all of the information from the presentation. The mineral water she buys after the lecture help as well. She actually manages to work for another 2.5 hours or so until she decides to go.
By this time the cola is all gone. But fate has something else to take its place: Linear Algebra. She put her headphones in and her pen to paper and the hours seem to fly by two at a time. Her scratch paper seems to fill itself up with her chicken scratches, but her homework itself seems to remain hopelessly blank. Her mind fills with complex numbers in all their different forms, but her stomach remains empty except for another piece of bread and ham and an a yogurt.
6:00 she has finally managed to find all of the solutions of z^n = 1.
8:00 she has spent so long trying to prove a really complicated formula that when she closes her eyes, she still can see “e^(2*pi*k*k/n)” and “cos(2pi/n) + i*sin(2pi/n)” as if they were burned into the back of her head.
10:30 she has only solved the formula for even numbers and, realising that this particular problem is only worth one point anyway, she resolutely decides to give up. The room smells distinctly of the smoke that is currently coming our of her ears. At least she thinks she can smell it.
11:26 She sits at the computer updating her blog. Her fingernails are painted an ugly shade of purple (when did that happen?) and there is an empty diet coke bottle lying suspiciously on the floor…