What kind of day has it been?

7:15am, Thursday April 10th: Awaken, after roughly three hours of sleep, to the dulcet tones of the CBC radio newswoman and a persistent, gnawing fear.

8:20am: Arrive at Downsview station to await my ride to UTIAS.

8:31-8:45am: Exchange awkward glances with fellow commuters. Attempt to communicate that my ride is late, and that I am annoyed but cool about the whole situation despite the fact that I have Important Things to do. This is not easily communicated via glances. Most likely they find me strange and fidgety.

8:55am: Arrive at UTIAS. Notice that the paint job on our plane has faded and peeled overnight, and christen the aircraft, appropriately, "Ugly Duckling". Add team logo decals which unexpectedly clash with the paint.

9:45am: Crisis! We have purchased the wrong kind of mixer for our control surfaces, and aileron control is backwards/weird.

9:47am: Crisis resolved! We borrow a new mixer from the TA and attach it semi-precariously with velcro and tape.

10:30am: Moment of truth. After watching other planes crash into power lines, break apart in mid air, and fail to get off the ground, my knees are shaking a bit as we walk our spotty, cracked, beleaguered flying wing across the field.

10:32am: She flies! There is profound relief and much high-fiving. More rejoicing follows as Ugly Duckling manages a couple of dramatic loops and a perfect landing. My pants are covered with burrs as we run through a field to recover the plane. Pictures are taken. "Now she's a swan" jokes are made with abandon. If they made sports movies about design projects, this is how they would end.

12:10pm: Lunch. Hobnobbing. Small talk with professors. As the adrenaline fades and I realize I still have the better part of a thesis to write, I begin to ponder how soon I can politely leave the institute.

12:20pm: Pretty soon.

4:30pm: After the trip home and a nap, the fear is back. It's switched from gnawing to whacking my head with a mallet. Short debate with myself on whether it is more like a Mallet of Failure or a Mallet of Broken Dreams. Resolved when I declare myself to be a moron.

7:30pm: Kim and I pause for Indian food. Actually, Kim pauses. I just eat Indian food, having nothing to pause from, as I have accomplished nothing since returning from UTIAS.

8:30pm: Get down to business for serious. Mallet of Motivation is in the house!

9:30pm: This is totally doable! What is so bad about theses anyway?

9:45pm: Ah. That.

10:30pm: And that.

11:00pm: Everyone is online. Everyone is slightly loopy. Expletive-laced discussions are conducted and relayed between various members of our class. The transitions between optimistic cheerleader and despondent, mopey loser are swift and frightening.

12:00am, Friday, April 11th: Decide that orbital dynamics are stupid. Wonder when I stopped wanting to be a paleontologist. Realize that I've given myself exactly 12 more hours in which to get this thing finished, printed, and bound.

12:47am: Decide that orbital dynamics are a vital and valuable field of study, and that I am stupid. The paleontologists wouldn't have had me anyway. I am scum!

2:00am: Resort to cheering myself up by watching a baby panda sneezing. I collapse into the kind of giggle fit that can only happen at 2am.

3:17am: Roommates (also awake, also writing) pass like zombie ships in the night. We are mostly too tired to do more than nod knowingly and exchange "I feel your pain" facial expressions.

4:00am: Decide I don't have time for our previously agreed-upon 4am brownie break. Shamelessly guilt Kim into making brownies for me.

4:33am: Mmmm, brownies. But what is that other smell?

4:36am: Realize uneaten dinner is still on the counter. The house has become a time-bending, channa masala-scented twilight zone. Before I know it, I am struck by the annoying cousin of 2am giggle fits: 4am existentialism. Why am I doing this? What do these graphs really mean, like, really? If Matlab had a face, what would it look like?

5:04am: The following conversation occurs:

Pete: WOOOOOOOOOO!
Kari: I hate you.
Pete: It's bound and everything!
Kari: Did I mention how much I hate you?

5:58am: Sweet Jesus, the sun is coming up.

7:00am: Decide to allow myself 3 more hours of working time.

7:30am: Decide that there is no earthly force that could compel me to work on this for 2.5 more hours.

9:13am: I have done enough. My conclusion is terrible, my results are wonky, and typos (probably) abound. All the same, I am off to Kinko's.

10:09am: I hand in two severely flawed, beautiful, plastic-bound pieces of my soul, and walk home through a torrential hailstorm. The iPod shuffle function declares "Little Red Corvette" to be my victory chorus.