8.15am.

Less than 8 hours until the deadline.

Only 6 hours maximum working time left, before I need to print out and whatnot.

Feeling so tired I can't keep my head up.

Still have two analyses, the conclusion, an abstract, and a bit of introduction to do.

And a bibliography (pathetically short), and contents page.

And then I need to go out and buy some folders. I can do that while it prints out.

Then I can hand this fucking thing in and never think about it again.

After today, I never have to sit in front of this fucking computer and write another fucking essay ever, in my entire fucking life. (I hope.)

Sara's changed her MSN username to Why Am I Always Left With The Archangel? because the last time she pulled an all-nighter, it was when I was doing one as well.

Got to go. I'm using the internet as an excuse not to work.

Only have about 3" of Coca Cola left in the bottle. The shop opens in about forty-five minutes. I'll go out then, buy a couple more bottles, and that should leave me set for the rest of the session.

If I can get this handed in by 2pm, I can come home for 2.30pm, cut my hair (yes, I do my own), have a shower, shave and so on, by about 3.30pm, maybe have a little sleep until I have to head off to the Writers Guild at 5pm. From there at 6.30pm, to join the fantastically mad bastards of Pulsar.

Tonight, no matter how tired I am, I'm going to go out and get pissed. Or maybe come home early and slump into a coma. One or the other.