Illustration by Chris Brooks '97

April 6, 1997 -- In the spring of my junior year, while sitting in my club, I laugh loudly at a group of demoralized seniors suffering from various levels of thesis-based depression. I boldly predict to a few friends that I will finish my prize-winning thesis, about an Appalachian hiking club, at least a month before the due date.

Summer, 1997 -- Conduct various periods of "research" involving long hikes through northern New England. This does not constitute suffering. Later I will unfortunately discover that it also doesn't constitute research.

August 31, 1997 (2 pages completed) -- Finish my "research." Enjoy a long, hearty chuckle at how ahead of the game I am.

September-November 1997 (3 pages) -- I keep remembering that there is something I'm supposed to be doing, but I can't recall what it is.

December 7, 1997 (6 pages) -- Appropriately enough, Pearl Harbor day. I go to visit my adviser. The good news is that he appears to recognize me. The bad news is that he thinks I work for the post office. I make a mental note for our next meeting: don't wear the blue shirt. On the walk home I idly wonder what happened to the fall.

December 8, 1997 (7 pages) -- Go to the library to find books relating to my thesis topic. Find the back issues of Sports Illustrated instead. Now know the intimate details of the 1986 Boston Celtics, but very little about the environmental movement.

January-February, 1998 (30 pages) -- Period of contradiction. Brief moments of great inspiration and productivity are followed by long periods of depression and college basketball.

March 2, 1998 (43 pages) -- Spend much of the morning in mourning over my tragically short creation. Beat my chest and rend my hair while wondering how God could be so cruel as to make the day so short. Spend the afternoon playing tennis, eat a long dinner, watch Ally McBeal, and go out to the Street. Wonder briefly before bed if perhaps I'm not being morally consistent.

March 3, 1998 (43 pages) -- Wake up with a nasty guilt hangover. Skip going to the Princeton-Penn basketball game in Philadelphia to write. Listen to the game on the radio and then watch a movie.

March 6, 1998 (50 pages) -- Wake up in Atlantic City. Realize immediately that mistakes have been made.

March 8, 1998 (53 pages) -- Discover that the title of one of my friend's thesis is "The Meaning of Life." The topic of his thesis, however, is death -- perhaps the one subject in the universe not covered by his title. Decide that if I'm reincarnated I want to come back as a philosophy major.

March 11, 1998 (55 pages) -- 3:00 a.m. The low point. I find myself watching a tape of the latest Undergraduate Student Government meeting on the Princeton cable channel. Amazingly enough, three of my roommates are watching it with me.

March 14, 1998 (75 pages) -- Life is now simple. Eat. Write. Weep profusely. Repeat.

So here I am. It has become clear that my final product will have as much in common with my bold dreams as a finger painting has with a Renoir. As I read over my last chapter, it's painfully clear that my thesis would have been much better if I'd spent more time on it. I suppose there's a life lesson in that: Grandiose dreams are fine, but they won't force you to sit down and write solid material day after day. My thesis has shown me the amount of commitment and dedication it takes to be truly successful, and for that I thank Princeton.

I'd like to draw some more meaningful conclusions from the past few months, but I don't have the time. I have to go bowling.

Wes Tooke, when he's not bowling, is preparing for life after Princeton and can be reached at cwtooke@princeton.edu.