To the extent that I ever have any semblance of a clue what I'm going to write for this week's column before I actually sit down and write it, I was vaguely planning on writing about spring break. It was actually going to be a bit of a change from my usual doom and gloom/raging diatribe/sarcastic lists. The unadulterated happiness and sincere sweetness of my intended topic would have added a much-needed dash of sugar to what's been an undoubtedly spicy column as of late, but - alas! - then something else to vent about came along, and that brings us back to my personal brand of tongue-in-cheek satire that we all know and (hopefully) love.
What is this aggravation, you ask? What is it that so aggressively knocked me off my path of sunshine and smiles, and sent me on a downward spiral of ill-suppressed rage? Why, daylight saving, of course.
If you've read my column even once before, I'm sure you know how fond I am of sleep. (You might know this even if you've just passed me on the street; I've been known to mutter scrambled odes to sleep under my breath after stressful all-nighters.) And if you haven't, here's a prime example: not too long ago, I overslept just a tad one morning and realized upon waking that I could either get out of bed right that second and make it to breakfast before class, or I could get another forty minutes of shut-eye and forego the sustenance. I, of course, chose the latter; my one coherent thought as I made this decision was surprisingly profound: "Nothing tastes as good as sleep feels." (Take that, Kate Moss.)
Anyway, daylight saving is possibly one of the worst ideas that has ever occurred to anyone on this planet, and that's saying something when you consider atrocities like Crocs, pet rocks and individually-toed socks. The misguided purpose of robbing us of a well-deserved hour of sleep, as I'm sure you know, is right there in the title: to conserve daylight. Well, I'm going to be an econ major, and I've learned to thoroughly weigh the pros and cons of every decision before making an informed choice, and I think daylight saving is a terrible idea.
Sure, we get another hour of daylight, but who really cares about that? I'm not really a nature person myself; I hate bugs of all shapes and sizes, I don't deal well with extreme temperatures and I consider camping outside a fate to be wished upon one's most hated enemies, not a pleasant leisure time activity. (Let me just say, if you're spending your free time camping, you're spending it wrong - give it to me and I'll get a whole lot more out of it.)
Some might point out that we get another hour of sleep in the fall, so that makes up for Sunday night's robbery and more. I say that's crap. If I have eight friends, and you shoot one in March and give me a new friend back in November, call me crazy, but I don't consider us even. (And that was a perfect metaphor, let me tell you; that's exactly how I feel about losing a precious hour of sleep: as if a dear friend has been ripped away from me.) Note that despite my love of sleep, I did not write a column singing the joys of daylight saving time last fall, so I'm clearly consistent in my hatred if nothing else.
Believe me, I really would like this column to be a ray of positivity in your otherwise gloomy Monday morning, but the way this semester's been going, that just doesn't appear to be in the cards. But who knows? Maybe next week - I'm an eternal optimist.
Lex Erath is a sophomore who has yet to declare a major. She can be reached at Alexandra.Erath@tufts.edu.
