Don’t drink coffee at 8pm. The Starbucks mocha drink at the cafetorium seemed so harmless with its unthreatening color of roasted peanuts and childish taste of Nesquik chocolate milk. The drink looked more like milk with drops of coffee rather than coffee with milk. With a gentle shake and tap on the glass, which I thought to be the most dangerous component of the entire purchase, the chocolate precipitate disappeared into the drink. With the peeling away at the perforated secure wrap plastic and the turn of the aluminum cap and the sound of the pop that ensures freshness, my seven hour sleep schedule met its treacherous fate. And here I am at 2:38 AM jittery and shivering in my 90 degree room.