I stare at the whitewashed computer screen as the cursor helplessly flashes at me on the blank page. The digital clock next to me screams 11:11. Hoping superstition would save me in this time of need, I close my eyes and make a wish that the essay I have yet to begin would magically appear on the screen.

I clearly was desperate. It wasn’t actually 11:11 since my clock runs 12 minutes fast and I’m not superstitious, so I look for a more practical means of finishing. Diagnosing my procrastination as a common case of writer’s block, I looked around my room and reached for the phone – I needed a drink.

My ride pulled up to my house in a matter of minutes. As my parents tucked themselves into bed I slipped out of the house and into her car. A sense of freedom glazed over both of us as we began to cruise the sleepy streets.

When we encroached on our secret hide away, we parked the car and walked in under the flickering sign. The cashier recognized us as usuals and pointed us to the back. We had reached the cure to my writer’s block: the slurpee machine.

I snatched a cup from the dispenser and filled it to the brim, a small sample from each flavor. As the drink spewed over the cap I would slurp it down to keep it contained, just to fill it once again. Overly optimistic, I attempted to fit one last spurt of slurpee into the container, but the pressure of the machine splatter painted the drink over the floor.

I dove for napkins as to not awake the exhausted cashier from his open-eyed sleep. I meticulously cleaned up the slurpee, saddened as if I had wasted the most precious liquid on earth, almost inclined to lick it off the floor.

With slurpees in hand we paid for our drinks and headed back to the car. Even though it was a frigid winter night, we rolled the windows down and the sunroof back and hit the road.

The frosty drink quickly became a warm soothing syrup that swept my worries away, and for just a moment the only concern I had was avoiding a painful brain freeze. As we approached my house we took one last spin around the neighborhood to extend the surreal ride.

As I head to my room reality rushed to my head. I thought twice about if the rendezvous was a dream or reality and once again I found myself facing the mind-draining screen. However, with ice, sugar, and a newfound work ethic pumping through my veins, I charged into the essay.

To a weary observer my frequent late night excursions to fulfill my slurpee craving might be seen as a pathetic excuse to delay my homework, but to me it is a righteous ritual. It is my continual reminder that regardless how stressful life gets, there is always something to be enjoyed. And no matter how complex life gets, even a 99-cent drink can be cherished.

While it may be true that over the years I have lost a few hours of sleep due to my obsession with slurpees, what’s life without a few drinks?