There is a problem my friends. Here among us, there is a plague. It has stolen into the most brightly lit classrooms and it has sneaked by even our most observant teachers. It is a problem called sleep and every day, it steals from us scores if not hundreds of students. Think. Ponder. Ask yourself this: between the hours of 08:15 and 14:25, how many friends have you lost to sleep? One minute they are sitting there next to you or behind you or in front of you. Perhaps they are mindlessly taking notes. Perhaps they are unleashing their inner creativity upon the wooden canvas that lies before them. Or perhaps they are waging an epic struggle to reach twenty-forty-eight. Regardless of their preoccupation, they were there, in class, next to you…

It begins like a nightmare from which there is no awakening. He begins to slump down. Slowly at first, supported as he is by his resolute elbow. But then faster and faster, as if the mass of a planet was pulling him down into its hellish core. And, though they resist gallantly, though they fight with the spirit of brave Leonidas and his Three-Hundred at Hell Gates, against the devil there can be no victory. The eyelids close in final defeat. The elbows buckle under the weight of the world. They have performed gallantly. No more could be demanded from Atlas himself. But in the end, they are defeated. You watch in horror, in shock, at the transformation before your eyes. His breathing once fair and melodious becomes harsh, mechanical, and lifeless. His back which once stood proud and defiant now bends in defeat. The angel of the Lord has passed over Xavier High School. The devil has had his due. And once again the plague called sleep has claimed another victim.

You pass through the denial stage quickly. Who could deny, who could not see the lifeless, unproductive form that you see before you now? Even the teacher, sitting as they are upon their podium high must see that the wolf has claimed another lamb. But they do not see. The shepherd cannot see his flock. And so the anger, bargaining, and despair fall to you alone….

Why did he have to keep up his grades? Who cares about a 4.0? Colleges? Parents? Counselors? Who? Grades don’t define a person. A person is a person no matter how small their GPA! Is not school for educating? Is not education more than numeric averages? White hot anger courses through your veins. You look toward the heavens and spot Old Glory waving in the breeze. You think of the Founding Fathers, of Hamilton, Jefferson, and Adams. Did they overthrow tyranny and bring down an empire just so children could be judged on their memorization skills and time management? Did the Union army march south against the oppression of a man based solely upon the color of his skin just so now, in modern society, a man can be reduced to a SAT score or class rank or average? No! Are not all men unique creations in the image and likeness of their Creator? Do they not have special talents? Or are men mere data points to be plotted, graphed, and compared? The injustice, the systemization, the dehumanization all shocks you to your core. The paper before you says 2015 but this world you know is all 1984…

How? How did this happen? How did this once vibrant young man go from student to zombie, claimed by the plague called sleep? In your head, you bargain with the devil. Time is the currency and in your head, you try desperately to repay the debt. Yes there are twenty-four hours in a day. Yes (supposedly) you need to eat, stay healthy, and socialize. But this reality escapes you and you see only the devastation wrought before your eyes. If he did not do a varsity sport… If he did not work a job… If he did not have friends to be friendly with… If he did not have a life… Inside your head, the machinery begins to whir. Who actually goes to college on an athletic scholarship? Who actually tries to stay fit? Who actually sees benefit in leadership, sportsmanship, and discipline? Who actually needs to work? Who actually wants experience or responsibility? Who actually has a life outside of school? Who actually has friends? If only he did less of this… If only he was only an athlete… If only he was only a nerd… If only he only worked… If only… The bargaining begins and like clockwork the despair sets in.

The rage is gone. There is no dealing with the devil. And so what remains? Perhaps utter hopelessness in the face of reality. After all, how could he not sleep? How could he not succumb? This plague has claimed so many. What’s one more number, one more statistic? What’s one more friend? The system cannot be beaten. Eat. Sleep. Work. Play. Rinse. Repeat. Man cannot change nature; he only gets hurt if he tries. To fight the systemization, the reduction: what is that but the futile efforts of doomed prey? There are only so many hours in the day. Only so many cups of coffee that can be drunk. What is the body, what is the human will against the overwhelming pressures of the modern world? How can it stand against colleges, parents, teachers, coaches, counselors: a multitude of voices all demanding different things. The pressure is real. You must admit it. Really, how can you judge him? The one in front of you, the one next to you, even the one behind you: it is inevitable that they too in time shall crack. The pressure builds. The pressure breaks. Student. Athlete. Employee. Friend. Son. All different words for the same thing: an object under pressure, an object torn apart; an object alone and isolated; an object standardized and judged; an object restrained and slammed with work, studying, practices, and deadlines; an object. In the end, this plague sleep claims them all…

There are not enough hours in a day. There are not enough hours in a day. In the end, that’s the problem. And in the end, you realize, that is the solution as well. For what is the twenty-four hour clock but the construct of primitive farmers? What is the moon or the lunar month in an age of electricity and digital clocks? Who says there has to be twenty-four hours in a day? Why not twenty-five? Or twenty-seven? Why not… thirty-six hours in a day? This plague sleep might claim the best at their prime. It might claim the student-athlete-employee-son in the morning classroom or afternoon lecture. Subject to time as he is, he cannot help but fall upon his desk. But is he truly subject to time if time itself is subject to him? He can change time. He can change the clocks. He can make the day thirty-six hours. He can electrify the world, bringing light to the darkness and darkness to what was once light. Out of despair comes hope. Thirty-six hours. Not twenty-four hours. Thirty-six…

A clock divided not into twelve or twenty-four but into thirty-six. Thirty-six whole hours to get done what was once done in twenty-four hours. The perfect solution. No more dark shadows under their eyes. No more coffee mugs in every single hand. No more constant pressure. No more deadlines. No more of this plague called exhaustion. He has saved them from themselves. How difficult is it to change a day? How easy is it to rewrite a biological clock? Compared to the alternatives: simple. It might even create jobs. But to change a system? To lessen the workload? To adjust the schedule? Impossible. To give meaning to education? To give purpose to learning? To perk interest, not shortcuts and cheating? Pointless. To lessen the pressure? To find constructive, positive ways to deal with it? Futile. Compared to the alternatives, the thirty-six hour day was superior. It was more than superior. It was a vaccine, a panacea, a miracle to this plague called sleep. To this plague called time. Perhaps caffeine might have been effective. Perhaps it might have created more artificial time. Perhaps it would have pushed back this monstrosity called sleep. Perhaps. But as everyone knew, caffeine was a hard and unyielding mistress…