It happens to everyone, from the practiced slacker to the most diligent student. You've been at the library for what seems like days, your eyes bleary from the lack of sleep, your hands jittery from the steady flow of caffeine. As the clock ticks away the hours, you panic and lose all ability to concentrate on the stack of books in front on you. Wild-eyed and desperate for distraction, you lunge for your trusty No. 2 pencil and scribble maniacally on the desk in front of you.

Some vent their frustration by cursing professors and finals week itself. Others are so despairing that all they can think to write is their own name, over and over. Die-hard fans seek solace in their favorite lyrics, while lovebirds carve hearts and interlocked initials, pining for their absent one.

The lofty yearning for an education draws hopeful Irish from all corners of the globe, while the frantic cramming of finals week sends them running to the library. As they huddle in isolated cubicles or socialize at popular second-floor tables, study breaks and perfected procrastination techniques inspire a new art form — a language of the library, a subculture of the stacks.

Graffiti as a form of self-expression is nothing new; man's earliest artistic representations were rough sketches on the walls of caves. Overstressed students have continued this tradition of their ancestors throughout the history of higher education.

And Notre Dame is no exception.

From the day the Theodore M. Hesburgh Library opened its doors, Domers have sought to escape the pressures and demands of university life by leaving their mark on the desk in front of them.

The once smooth, wooden surface of library tables and cubicles tells a history of life at Notre Dame as seen through the eyes of students — their loves, their hates, their dreams and their frustrations. Exploring this secret saga of the stacks reveals the humor prevalent among decades of undergrads exasperated by the gray skies of South Bend and the lack of social life in northern Indiana.

While their wit and wisdom can be thought-provoking or even educational, the timid or faint-at-heart should remember that the maturity level of 18- to 22-year-olds often leaves much to be desired — one unfortunate constant throughout the years. Looking beyond the occasional unpleasantry, however, can provide telling insight into the lives of those who have called this University home.

At a school so steeped in athletic tradition and excellence, it's only natural to find numerous references to sports and favorite teams scribbled on the desks of scholars. Almost every team is represented somewhere in the library, from "ND Water Polo forever!" to "ND Swim #1." One die-hard rugby player expressed his anger at his team's disbanding by writing a few choice words to the Office of Residence Life in bold black pen, followed by "NOTRE DAME RUGBY LIVES!"

Football dominates the sport-affiliated graffiti. One jubilant fan proclaimed "11/13/95 — Greatest Day for ND Football Fans!" Another responded grudgingly, "9/18/99 — Worst Day for ND Football Fans."

Another set of responses reveals the spectrum of football lovers and haters. An exuberant "Are you ready for some football?!" is dryly answered by, "NO — this school should work to develop its academic reputation and recruit profs like it recruits jocks."

Some take their graffiti more seriously than others.

One interesting phenomenon is the presence of various Notre Dame slurs, generally along the lines of "Go Michigan! ND Sucks." Apparently some visiting fans make it a point to visit the library in the hopes of defacing a few desks in the name of their team. We print up cleverly insulting t-shirts and chant degrading cheers; they insult us in library cubicles. Wow, they really got us there.

Stuck behind the walls of the library on a football Saturday, one dedicated fan longed to be in the stadium across the street and must have been listening to the game on the radio while working. An updated score of a Notre Dame vs. BC game runs across the top of one desk, accompanied by a few carefully chosen expletives to express dissatisfaction with the Screaming Eagles' win.

Students maintain a passion for hometown teams and heroes as well. An enthusiastic "Mets #1" is scrawled across several cubicle walls, while a meticulously drawn Cubs insignia is etched into one table. And one particularly dedicated sports nut made his mark on seven cubicles in a row, writing "Free Pete Rose!" in permanent marker.

This same borderline obsession is found in music fans of all genres who find themselves holed up in the 'brare. Domers of the '80s cried out for Bruce Springsteen, Guns 'N' Roses and The Cure. In response to a Def Leppard logo, one crazed co-ed scribbled "Who wrote this?? I want to have your children." "Oasis is the waste bowl of all time," declares another.

For some reason, U2 fans are particularly fond of pledging their allegiance via graffiti. "Achtung Baby," "Bono is God," and "U2 U2 U2." This may be due to the band's continued popularity throughout several decades, or perhaps simply because the two letter moniker is easy to remember when cranky and craving sleep at 3 a.m.

Other vocal fans include Phish phans and Deadheads, who tend to ramble in long lyrical quotes sometimes decorated with pot leaves. An interesting juxtaposition of musical tastes is found on one second floor desk in which warring sides have colored the surface with "Poison," "Phish," "Whitesnake," "Grateful Dead" and "Motley Crue." South Bend's local music scene is even represented, with the lyrics of Umphrey's McGee's classic, Bootie Wax.

Indeed the most popular forms of library graffiti are musical lyrics — as seen on one cubicle completely covered in different songs — and philosophical musings. Apparently the philosophy requirement is doing its work, as Notre Dame students throughout the decades have pondered the great questions while procrastinating from their econ or orgo homework.

They wonder: "Why do I take up space?" They despair: "You live, you learn. Then you die and forget it all." They seek to understand: "All that you have is your soul." They wallow and reflect on the popular musings of other tortured souls: "You run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking ... racing around to come up behind you again. Bummer."

Sometimes the pressure to achieve the typical Notre Dame financial success is too much for late-night crammers to bear. "Cash rules everything around me." "I'm a slave to the traffic light." "The lunatic is in my head."

One student happily dismisses this fear of succeeding in capitalistic America. Noting the words of his teacher — " `PLS, if done correctly, will make you inoperable in the `real' world.' - Prof. Imery" — the student confidently replies, "I'm doing something right."

But fear not — these serious philosophies are tempered by the randomness of college-age humor. States one exasperated studier, "I want to see something naked and I want a beer." "Frodo lives!" rejoices another proud Tolkien junkie. "It's really hard to study when all I can think about is sex," laments another frustrated Domer, voicing years of grumbling about parietals. And another groans "I wish I was in Hawaii." Don't we all.

Stress and tension manifest themselves in many ways, but the built-up pressure often explodes violently onto innocent library desktops. "Someone kill me before exams," pleads a hopeless soul. The mantra "Finals suck" appears frequently, once modified with "Nothing gets by the master of the obvious." "Anybody here want to tell me why the hell I came to college?" reads one carrel. "I hate the person next to me," is angrily scrawled across one wall, with a large arrow pointing to the occupant of the adjoining cubicle.

One dedicated slacker devised his own "Real Notre Dame Poll," which take up an entire desk surface and has several respondents. Among the telling questions he poses are: "Do you go to church? If so, only to scope? Do you have a meaningless existence? If no, no question here — YOU LIED. Is ND a social wasteland? If no, see previous response." The clever author also proposed his own solutions for improving the social life, among them "co-ed dorms" and "returning the kegs."

Another unique set of lists is found on several neighboring carrels: regularly updated countdowns of the number of hours left till the weekend. An early version is the "Bridget's Countdown," later mimicked by the "Finnigan's Countdown."

Several other desktops have themes as well. One is covered in doodles of Santa Claus and Christmas trees; idle minds drew beer cans and mushrooms all over another. A serious debate about rape continues in one cubicle, while homesick students from across America etched their city names into a long list on another carrel.

A unique feature of Notre Dame graffiti is the presence of religion. "Our Lady of Accounting" prays for business majors on one table. Images of crosses and crucifixes abound. Despondent students ask, "Oh my God, am I all alone here?" "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? 12-18-97, 2:55 a.m."

Another studier with an interesting sense of humor notes that "Jesus studied for the last time on 5/4/98." Questions arise — did Jesus graduate, or just go home for the summer?

Perhaps it is this presence of religion that inspires cheerful graffiti. "It's a great day to be alive," writes one student full of sunshine. "You said it, man," another agrees. "Jesus died for this? YES," reads one carrel.

Thoughts on love, its absence and presence, make up another group of graffiti. Frustrations with the attitudes of Notre Dame girls are mixed in with the sappy doodlings of satisfied couples. "My fiancee is the most beautiful woman in the world," one Domer declares proudly. Other carrels attest to the sweetness of love, even amid the dreary days in South Bend. "I love her — always have." "Tricia, you're a miracle, and God knows I need one."

One heart with a couple's initials etched inside is joined by an update: "These two are married now." And the mysterious declaration of "Elsie's promise" leaves others wondering if the promise was ever fulfilled.

This may be the lasting legacy of library graffiti. Nearly impossible to erase, the words left by those who came before leave today's students wondering about the stories behind them. Did the brooding philosopher discover what to do with his life? Did the orgo student pass her final? Did the desperate souls who left phone numbers ever get a date?

One carrel high on the ninth or tenth floor — notoriously the best floors for graffiti-searchers — reads "Don't study too much, it's not worth it," a sentiment echoed by others. Perhaps students have always been overwhelmed by the demands of a Notre Dame education. But without their vented frustrations, we would not have this living history.

Changing musical tastes, the rise and fall of sports teams, popular sayings and symbols — the stories of generations of Domers are written on the wooden desks of the library, a tradition that is sure to endure even in this computer age. It is the desire to make a place one's own, to leave a mark behind, to feel a kinship with those who sat and studied there before.

"WE ARE ND." And as long as there are tests, papers and the need to cram, that's what we will remain.

• The writing on the (carrel) walls