Working After Dark

It is four o' clock on a Sunday afternoon: what are you doing? If you are like most of the people I have observed on this campus, you are beginning to contemplate the weekend's worth of homework buried under the debris on your desk. As you sling your backpack over your shoulder and prepare to trudge over to the library, you might notice something that adds to the burden of Sunday afternoons - the darkening sky.

If you recall, it wasn't that long ago that we all turned the clocks back an hour. Although we rejoiced at that extra hour of sleep, there are drawbacks to the end of daylight's savings time. The primary one is the fact that it now gets dark an hour earlier.

It is always depressing that with the advent of fall the hours of sunlight grow increasingly less. Falling back that hour, though, we rush that process even more. This is where the Sunday afternoon phenomenon enters. When college students roll out of bed at 3:30, they are catching their last thirty minutes of sun light.

I cannot begin to describe how depressing it is for me to look out the window or walk to the library around four. Suddenly, through the cloud haze that pervades November days, the sun begins to set. Dusk, twilight, whatever romantic name you want to give it, is just about the time I start to settle into that Aristotle I've been putting off all weekend.

There is a flaw in the system, and I know it is not just my system. Possibly you could argue that I could use my weekend time more effectively: yes, I could get out of bed at eight o'clock in the morning, and yes, I could spend all Friday and Saturday afternoon cranking out homework. The truth of the matter is, though, I don't. I can be productive - laundry, shopping, catching up on e-mails - but homework never seems to make that list. Regardless of that fact, there is still a flaw in the system.

Momentarily setting aside weekends, or more specifically Sunday afternoons, the sun sets at about the same time all week long. Getting out of class at 3:55 PM, you have about the same experience. Suddenly - at the magic four o' clock hour - the sun starts to set. I find it difficult enough to sit down with my homework after enduring four classes in a row; imagine how this feeling is magnified when I realize I will be working in the dark.

Why do I keep pointing this out? A very simple reason: it is incredibly difficult to get any work done after sun sets, especially in the fall. The colder weather always makes me want to curl up under a blanket, preferably near a fire, and read a book or magazine, watch a movie, or find some other quiet - and not necessarily academically oriented - activity. This nesting instinct only increases when the sun finally sets.

I once had a conversation in which someone pointed out to me that this instinct is actually the hibernation instinct latent in all people. I myself like this idea; it explains exactly why, as soon as cold weather sets in, I feel less and less inclined to aggressively pursue any commitment in which I was previously engaged. It also explains why I get nothing productive done in the last few hours of my weekend.

I can't claim to have a solution. There doesn't seem to be any way to avoid the hibernation instinct, nor does there seem to be any way to alleviate the stress of life during the late fall. That isn't to say I haven't thought about it. I have considered many possibilities. I will share a few with you, so you can see the extent of my dilemma.

Colleges could institute a rule that all classes must be over by two o'clock in the afternoon. Sounds reasonable at first, until you arrive at the realization that this means more classes would have to start earlier in the morning. Granted the sun is always up before noon, but I think it is almost an impossibility to motivate the majority of college students to roll out of bed for a 7:00 am class. I certainly wouldn't volunteer for the job.

Another possibility is changing the dates of the school year. Days are so much longer in the summer; think of just how much work could get done on those once-lazy afternoons. The problem that arises here is that summer's without school have become part of our national consciousness. Summer jobs, tourist towns - this would affect so much more than students and professors. Besides all this, imagine the dramatic decrease of college graduates entering the field of education that would result if we abolished the convention of having summers off.

As you can see, there isn't really much we can do on a large scale to change the fact that during the winter we are depressed by the lack of sun light during study hours. All I can suggest is that professors take into consideration the fact that, even though we have had an entire weekend without classes, our favorite time to study has been plunged into darkness.

For now I am contemplating buying a second home in Australia. Think about it: right now, as we are preparing for freezing weather, Australians are preparing for glorious summer. Until this kind of dual residence is feasible, though, I am holding out until Thanksgiving Break. One week off isn't exactly what I am asking for, but it certainly is a good start.