all my sitting-down muscles hurt and all my standing-up muscles have forgotten what to do

Moan as I might (do) about the end of semester, the ten thousand words due the same day, the sleepless nights and the disorientation - I walk into doors - I have to admit that part of me just loves it. When the library stays open til three in the morning and everyone scuffs around in pyjamas, wilting over textbooks. When rubbish bins overflow with Starbucks cups the size of slurpees, and impromptu games of night-soccer start on the lawns. Walking home because the trams have stopped, feeling like the only person in the city. Night air. The sudden bursts of euphoria where your brain feels like it's straining on a leash ten meters above you, when you could skip a thousand miles and write a thesis with your hands tied - and the inevitable swoop, when you could sleep for a week and might just vomit with tiredness -

and the way people start scribbling pithy little facebook-status-type comments all over the toilet cubicles, and you can spend twenty minutes in there, just reading.