February. Write like hell. In a blaze of term-billed printing and caffeine, a thesis will emerge. Last-minute sources will be consulted and all the "get-to-that" notes will come back to haunt you. Much to your surprise, you will have an argument with cogent research and a grasp of the field. You will go to your advisor with a problem, but in explaining it you will figure out the answer and rush out to write it down before you forget. Save that insight, and back it up on the network, your parents' computer and in three or four states, too.

T-minus 3 weeks. Like a spring thaw, writing will become revising, though the process will be just as draining. You will feel ecstatic about strange things, like finding an errant quote or cutting out the split infinitives. You also will find yourself talking about the thesis like it was super-interesting to others, from section to bars to the checker in the dining hall. Please feel free to restrain yourself. Please.

T-minus 2 days. Step away from the keyboard. Do it. I'm serious. Rely on your hard work, your measured pace and your trusty proofreaders to help perfect your masterpiece. Buy a ream of special paper and set aside a day, about a hundred dollars and all your remaining patience, whether you are printing it yourself or dropping off your baby at the all-night whirling dervish of copies. Prevent yourself from looking too close; of course you will find mistakes, but what's to say that an errant mouse click won't create more while you try to fix it?

Voil. Sleep, drink and be merry. Laugh at seniors with later deadlines. Add a spring to your step, plan a luxurious spring break and write a column to help out future thesis-writers.

Adam I. Arenson '00-'01 is a history and literature concentrator in Lowell House. His column appears on alternate Fridays.