Yesterday night, I time traveled. You may be asking, “How is that possible? How did you bend the confines of time to your will? Are you a pathological liar? Are you mentally sane?” I will admit, I am not God, and I promise I’m not having a psychotic break. But I did time travel, and so did you. Because yesterday was the delightful annual fall back.
Last night, I didn’t even know the clocks were changing. It was approximately 1:45 a.m., and I decided to go for a classic late-night shower. When I returned from my enjoyable shower (the shower drains finally got cleared out and my feet are no longer petri dishes), I was perplexed by the time: 1 a.m. I could have sworn it was already 1:45 a.m. when I left. And then I realized: the clocks went back an hour. Oh, to get an extra hour of respite from the constant toil of being a college student! I was joyous—floating on air! Fall back is the greatest day of the year. It’s like when teachers give you an extra day on an assignment—it comes when you least expect it and most need it. Now, I was able to get eight luxurious hours of sleep with typical dreams like creating a spider-rat hybrid baby and driving around on mattresses. And yet, despite my jubilation, I can’t help wishing daylight savings didn’t exist.
I know I was just saying how much I love daylight savings, but I love it for one day before I despise it for the rest of the year. Now, the sun taunts me, setting promptly at 4:30 p.m. when I still have work to do. The sun manipulates my suprachiasmatic nucleus, forcing melatonin to release far too early in my day, reducing my levels of productivity. How am I expected to work when it is pitch black at 5 p.m.? I don’t want to submit to a caffeine addiction just to make it through the day—that’s for when I’m a real adult. And there’s no way I’m shifting my entire schedule to wake up at the crack of dawn to do my homework. Only the Vassar version of roosters—the trash trucks—should be up at that hour. And worst of all is the unstoppable yawning. I have to play it off by formulating a poorly constructed ha-ha-ha like I’m a jolly old man creating a jingle for a crew of exhausted friends. But really, I’m just infected with terminal yawning disease, and somehow, I am contagious to myself. I just want to go to sleep. It’s also laborious to reset my clocks twice a year. I didn’t sign up to be Father Time’s employee, but here I am, hitting my clock’s buttons with endless high-pitched beeping.
I am grateful for my extra hour of sleep, but maybe daylight savings needs to end. Hopefully, before I have to spring forward.