“You really work hard,” grad school comrade Jessie observed, as I cranked out four pages of my Karen Cushman paper in three hours on Saturday. We met for lunch and coffee and lots and lots of silence -- silence broken only by the clicking of laptop keys and occasional deep sighs of frustration.

“Yes,” I acknowledged, briefly tearing myself away from my handiwork. “There’s no motivation like a baby.”

Jessie looked a little confused.

“Well,” I explained, “if you’re either paying hard cash money for the privilege of writing your paper, or your spouse has assumed 100% of the childcare for an entire Saturday, then you can’t really afford to dick around.”

Sad, but true, she agreed.

And so, armed with the motto “Don’t Dick Around,” I’ve written fifteen pages since Thursday.