All necessary preparations have been made: the post-dinner nap taken, the over sized mug full of strong black coffee consumed and the aptly named “Jet-Alert” caffeine pills and 5-Hour Energy drink placed ominously on the desk in front of me. With a Spanish presentation to draft, rehearse and memorize by tomorrow afternoon, an already-late problem set to conclude and a three to five-page paper (…with some creative spacing) to conquer, I plan to accomplish what I’ve amazingly managed to avoid thus far in my junior year–the all-nighter.

Having successfully procrastinated away the evening, I glance down at my tortoise shell watch, knowing that this workathon must commence in the near future. The hands point perfectly to midnight, and for a brief second I snicker to myself about how cliché that seems. Then, the unmistakable feeling of dread sinks in.

“I should have started this earlier,” I think to myself, imagining all of my more organized, better-time managing classmates finishing up their assignments and settling down to some television on Netflix right about now. “This is going to suck.”

Full backpack slung over my shoulder, I walk into the common room of my suite to find my three living companions joyously sharing a freshly popped bag of buttery popcorn and circulating a bottle of Yellow Tail chardonnay. Several handfuls and a depressing zero sips later, however, it is off to the Suites computer cluster for me–the CD-Rom on my Mac is making some very unfriendly noise and refusing the software disc required for my p-set. An inauspicious start.

I trudge through the brisk air toward the cluster, and Governor’s Corner is (if possible) even quieter than usual, aside from a brief yelp coming from an unlit game of pickup basketball on the FroSoCo court. Lights are still on in most students’ rooms as they work quietly at their desks, and I enviously detect a hint of weed smoke as I walk by one of the four Suites residences.

When I arrive at the computer cluster, it is just me and the girl in the yellow peacoat. She looks up at me with an expression of quasi-irritation as I come into the room, probably annoyed that she now has to silence her music. It’s 12:22 a.m., and I can’t even figure out how to load the software on one of the cluster computers, nonetheless start the assignment. Expletives about the uselessness of computer clusters, RCCs and Mac CD-Roms are filling my head as grumpiness and semi-heavy eyelids already begin to set in.

After some 10 minutes of dumbly staring at the screen, I finally realize that the software is already installed on these computers. Hallelujah! I make a mental note to take back my premature RCC cursing.

The glee is short lived. I am trying to follow along with the notes that my TA sent me, but all of these software commands make me feel like I’m reading a foreign language. When my boyfriend calls me at 1:06 a.m., I still haven’t figured out how to open the data set that I need to analyze. Yikes. But alas–now at 1:27 in the morning–the data is open! I can now start the problem set.

The next hour passes pretty uneventfully, and I guess I’ve gotten fairly absorbed in STATA, the statistical analysis software that I’ve come to realize is kind of cool in a super nerdy way. Yellow peacoat girl stands up to leave, and out of nowhere “All by myselffff” starts playing in my head (a Google search tells me that this is Celine Dion’s voice that I have randomly drawn out of my subconscious memory).

No longer feeling the judgmental stares of my counterpart in the computer cluster, I quickly check my Facebook and Twitter, and have a moment of solidarity with Tennessee Titan Chris Johnson who so eloquently tweets, “Ima try n stay up all night.” I contemplate commenting on a comment on Facebook, but snap myself back into work mode. None too soon, either, because Yellow Peacoat is back with a cup of what appears to be Coke from the nearby eating club in hand.

My attempts at feigning productivity don’t last too long this time around, though, and my worn out eyes are fading fast. After she leaves for good this time circa 3 a.m., I realize that I am simply clicking around my bazillion (okay, 26) open tabs and getting absolutely nothing done. I start thinking about how isolated and creepy the Suites computer cluster is (I mean, anyone could just wander in from Alpine Road, and who would even hear me screaming when they attacked?) and I take this realization, combined with Google docs’ server suddenly becoming available, as a sign to return to my suite.

Back at my suite at 3:29 a.m., the pile of Valentine’s Day chocolate previously in the common room has been completely pillaged and one of my suitemates, also pulling an all-nighter, says that she is going to “take a nap” (read: never wake up). Feeling extra tired and unpleasant myself, I set my iPhone alarm for 4:12 a.m.–just in case I should nod off–and continue plowing through my work at a snail’s pace. I’ve done what I can with this problem set and can probably wing the presentation, but I’m yet to even think about the paper (which also requires some degree of research).

Come 4:16, my only friend still available on Gchat is a high school classmate who goes to Cambridge. I briefly wonder what time it is there, but instantly abandon this effort at mental mathematics. I close my eyes for 30 seconds, wanting to accept defeat, but consciously begin engaging myself in an inner dialogue.

“If I go to sleep now, it’s over,” I tell the sleep-deprived me. “Must. Fight. Through.”

After a slow 40 minutes of writing, intermixed with a few Internet pit stops (Facebook, NYTimes.com, Cosmopolitan.com, some more Facebook), I’m feeling pretty useless, but then I remember the bottle of 5-Hour Energy sitting on my desk. I’ve never tried the stuff, but my suitemates swear by it, and it’s only four calories.

At 5:11, I’m still feeling tired after downing half of it, though, so I swallow the rest, awaiting the instant pick-me-up. Nothing comes. I desperately swallow a highlighter yellow caffeine pill, but decide to bring my work with me into my bed, just for comfort’s sake. Plus, there’s no physically possible way that I can fall asleep with these stimulant levels in my body…

Next thing I know, I groggily rub my eyes, with my still open and now-dead laptop and assorted papers spread out around me. Seeing the gray sky of morning through my window, I frantically look at the clock on my wall, wondering how long I dozed off for.

It’s 10:36 a.m. Good morning, sunshine.