Leaf through the "Summer Jobs" binder for the 14th time, knowing full well the listings were last updated in 1987 and you will never get a job anyway unless you are a minority and willing to work 90 hours per week in Cincinatti (unpaid, of course).

4:42 p.m. Wander upstairs. Contemplate telling Work Abroad Counselor Bill Klingelhofer that you're interested in working as a pirate in the Caspian Sea, and would a leather thong and scabbard be appropriate dress for the interview?

Contemplate showing up for your Smith-Barney interview in a beige leisure suit, black Reebok high tops and an "American by birth, Southern by the grace of God" cap.

Contemplate how many cardiac arrests you could induce by walking into the main reading room, announcing in a you have already been accepted by both Harvard and Stanford medical schools on full scholarship, and you wish Yale would just hurry up and let you know.

Then contemplate something really wild and crazy, like sprinting past the uptight people guarding the front door and refusing to show your I.D.

Laugh maniacally to yourself as you exit the building.

6:10 p.m. Head to dinner. Turn to another favorite dining hall pastime, the Predict-which-Senior-Couples-will-end-up-getting-married Game.

7:13 p.m. Panic mid-way through dessert, stricken with the realization that you have just watched the sun set on yet another day without making any headway whatsoever on your thesis, and due date now looms only four weeks away. Spring out of the dining hall, charge up to your room, boot up the old Macintosh and...

7:19 p.m. Stare bleakly at your thesis outline one more time. Experience fleeting moment of joy at thought that all your friends in Social Studies have dropped their theses, switched to Gov, and are now downing pitchers at the Grill. Realize you already are Gov. Moan in despair.