Epic Fail

Well, I've already failed at BEDA. Sorry. I feel shame at this, but will continue to attempt frequent updates here... because perhaps then I can atone for this failure? We'll see.
So yesterday was officially the worst day of the semester, and possibly my entire college career as it exists at a length of 1.5 semesters. The story goes like this. (There is actually quite a bit of backstory to this that is necessary to explain why this was the worst day ever, so please bear with me.)
So spring break was last week, and as I have previously mentioned this was very fun. I had a great time. Over spring break I had quite a lot of work to do in the form of reading and writing papers, and I diligently hauled about 50 pounds worth of books out to Colorado with me so that I could diligently accomplish my works. However, all I really used the books for was endurance training as I hauled them up several flights of stairs to get them into our apartment for the week, and then back down again as we left.
This meant that at the beginning of this week I was faced with completing four papers by Friday. I was still confident. I had plenty of time. On Tuesday I woke up early and wrote the first one, which was a wise choice on my part because it was due at 11:00 later that morning. So no problem. The next paper wasn't due until Thursday afternoon, and the last two weren't due until Friday.
So I took a break. I watched some television, watched some movies. I painted a few pictures. And this brings us to Wednesday night, when I was starting to feel a bit twitchy. I did some mental math and realized that I needed to write 10 pages of writing within two days. "Okay," I said to myself. "You can do this. You don't have class tomorrow. You can just write all day." After which I promptly stayed up until two in the morning watching more television. Good thinking, right?
On Thursday, the epic day of writing, I did start out well enough. I finished one paper by noon, and another by 2:30. "Look at that!" I said. "I'm doing amazingly well! I only have one paper left! This will be easy!" What I did not tell myself was that the paper that I had left until the end was a 5-page paper tying Hegel's and Rousseau's philosophy on societies into the utopian societies presented by Swift and Voltaire. I'm really good at ignoring the elephant in the room.
And so, yet again, I took a break. I watched some television, watched some movies. I dithered around on the internet. I went to the library under the pretense of picking up research books and looked at DVDs instead. I chatted with friends online. This continued until 10:30 that night, at which point my current situation hit me in the face like a brick. I might have hyperventilated a bit.
"Okay," I said to myself. "Stay calm. Start writing." And I did. I wrote and read and wrote some more, and it went pretty well until two in the morning, at which point my brain said, "Nuhuh. I'm done," and put up its away message, which goes something like this, "I want to take you to the gay bar, gay bar, gay bar..." Not very helpful, so the plan at that point became getting up early in the morning and writing my introduction and conclusion before going to class. Cue worst day ever.
My alarm goes off at 7:30. I am angry. I punch it off. I go back to sleep. At 8:30, I wake up, freak out, and run to take a shower. There is water on the floor (so strange in a shower, right?) I slip. My ankle hurts very badly now. I am angry. I rush to finish my paper, and am only able to write my introduction before having to go to class to turn in another paper. "Okay," I say to myself. "I will finish the conclusion over my lunch hour. No problem." I go to pick up the completed paper from the printer... which is inexplicably not working. Great. I run to the honors house (I'm now running late for class) so that I can print my paper out and turn it in. But wait... I have no stapler. We can't turn papers in unless the sheets are attached to each other. Crap. But wait, I do have a paper clip! Crisis averted. (This is a lot more epic when it's all going down as I'm running to class on my badly hurting ankle, trust me.) Paper is turned in. All is well. I rush back to my room so that I can finish my last paper. As I am running up the stairs, my very angry ankle chooses this moment to go on strike and I plummet to the ground and slide down several stairs. I am angry. I finish my paper anyway. As I run to the printer (pleaseletitbeworkingnowpleaseletitbeworkingnow), my ankle inexplicably knows that I am once again unwisely running on the stairs and gives out. I plummet down the stairs again, this time with witnesses. I am angry. My ankle is angry. My stomach is angry because I haven't eaten anything today. It is a very angry day.
(The conclusion of this story involves me turning in my paper (properly stapled) and returning to my room to fall asleep, pajamas and all, only to forget that I have an engagement at 3:00, of which I am reminded when I receive a call asking me if I am at the Union. Commence further running.)