The clicks of a mechanical keyboard spilled into the dark hallway, illuminated by the overhead lights of the tall room. The dusty fan spun lazily overhead as a cat stretched on the couch along the far wall. A student sat in his short swivel chair, typing away on a Word document without even noticing the coming of night outside his window. His desk, which had been neglected during the long hours spent there today, was cluttered with soda cans. A timer went off on the shelf nearby, signaling the time for a break. He leaned back in his chair and reached for a book. Another ten-minute break and the student would once again be back to writing his essay.

He had spent all weekend working on the assignment, a research essay analyzing a news article. If the student ever finished, there was still a peer review to complete and several tests to be done. All of this, just for one class. The student hadn’t even gotten around to working on the others yet. He had never been under such immense pressure in his life. And yet, he loved every second of it.

Now was one of those moments. 

The effect that constant pressure has on a person is truly strange. The student had found that by taking away distractions and unneeded responsibilities, fully devoting himself to a single task, he could accomplish in days what had previously felt impossible. Perhaps this was why he put up with the classes that he took. It was because, somewhere, deep down, the student enjoyed the work.

The timer went off again, signaling the time to put away the book and begin typing. He slowly pulled himself away from the world of fantasy and picked up on the document where he had left off, all the while hearing the constant ticking of the timer as it counted down yet another hour of work. An hour closer to midnight, when the assignments would be due, he absently took another sip of his last soda can.

Just another late night at the early college.