Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

March 10, 2000

So there I was, working hard at my computer, washing down summer sausage and Ritz with Mountain Dew to stay awake, when Chet and Eddie came home from mug night and decided to tell me about their evening.

Afraid I might miss out on something important, they reenacted every interaction that took place from the time they left the house to the moment they walked into my room.

I’ve noticed that somehow there’s always one roommate with half of his semester’s grades riding on projects due the day before spring break while everyone else in the house looks to late March for their next deadlines.

Somehow that one roommate always puts off all research and writing for said projects until three days before the aforementioned spring break.

And somehow that one roommate, is always me.

Doh.

I remember when procrastination used to be more of a hobby than a curse for me.

I’d wait until the last minute, spend 37 solid hours cranking out a work of academic art and attribute my success to the joys of working under pressure. I could go without sleep for days before spring break simply surviving on the knowledge that warmer times lay ahead and naps are always better in the sun.

Those days are long gone.

You know you’re getting old when pulling an all-nighter means typing until 3 a.m. and then sleeping until noon.

In my youth I would have scoffed at the notion that an all-nighter was anything less than literally staying up all night long and finishing your project just in time to have the ink dry on the way to class.

But that was then, this is now.

Take Wednesday night, for example. In a move that shocked my roommates, parents and classmates, I stayed in to crank out a paper instead of going out with the boys.

Now that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but the sad fact of the matter is that in the back of my mind I’m glad I conserved my energy for the Big 12 Tournament.

You know you’re getting old when you use phrases like “resting up for the weekend” and “taking it easy tonight.”

And you know you’re getting old when, though you’ll never admit it, you’re actually glad that you just missed your roommates and they headed out to the bars without you.

Maybe I’m just feeling decrepit from my sleep-deprived week. Or maybe I’m just fearing this coming weekend in Kansas City and the amount of damage I’m bound to do to my body. Or maybe it’s because I’m looking ahead to August and realizing that I might need to get a job.

Regardless, I feel old.

You know you’re getting old when you look forward to spring break as a chance to catch up on homework, taxes and sleep.

You know you’re getting old when your favorite movies from high school show up on Encore for two bucks a month.

And you know you’re getting old when your friends mention birthday shots and you realize they’re not talking about tequila, but instead are referring to trips to the doctor with their 2-year-olds.

Finally, there is absolutely no doubt you’re getting old when the girl you just danced with is the youngest sister of the girl you dated a few years back that dumped you because you were simply too old for her.

And that youngest sister is now in grad school.

But enough of this bitter-old-man syndrome. This weekend I’m taking my boys to Westport, Iowa State’s annual version of the fountain of youth, to watch our men and women win some ball games.

Heck, maybe I’ll even get crazy and stay out all night for a change. I just know I’d better take advantage of it while I can, because I’ve got a bunch of homework waiting for me when I get back.

After I take a nap.