The Burgermare

I rush into the office, late again. Glancing at the clock, I see that it's 11:15. Today was not the day to be late. Again.

I dump my laptop at my desk and frantically search for my boss, who is nowhere to be found. I absolutely have to find him, you see, because, well, I'm quitting. Today is the day. I can't stand this for even one more second. It has to be today.

I stick my head into a conference room, where I'm greeted by several questioning faces. I've wandered into a design meeting that's already started. I should be joining them now, not standing at the door asking stupid questions. My boss is not there, but there's a judge sitting at the head of the table. I ask him if he's seen my boss. He tells me that he saw him this morning, but that I'm too late. He left at 9:30 today. Why wasn't I here on time?

I think quickly and realize that the judge can take my resignation. So I ask, "Do you have a minute to speak to me?" He says no, he had time before the meeting but not now.

Resigned, I find the Coffeebot in the kitchen. I love these things. Single servings, simple, no brainpower required before noon. Pop in a pod, press a button, and ahhh!!!! Insta-caffeine. As I'm waiting for the Coffeebot to spit out my sanity-in-a-cup, the judge emerges from the conference room. He tells me that he can, in fact, meet with me.

All I have to do is explain to him why, exactly, I was late. Why I'm always so lazy? Why everybody else can make it to work on time, except me? Why I'm so unfocused, run-down, so different from the energetic, ambitious person they interviewed four short months ago?

His voice gets louder and louder. More accusing, more threatening. He's standing between me and the Coffeebot, which is teasing me with the whoosh of steam that lets me know that my coffee is ready and I'm about to be Saved. I reach for it, but my hand gets caught in the judge's robe. He's screaming now, and everyone else is joining him.

Then I wake up, in a panic! What time is it????? Did I sleep through my alarm again? Am I really going to be late and miss my boss this morning?

But no. I relax back into my pillow and close my eyes. It's a holiday. I haven't missed anything. D-Day - the day I quit my job because of delayed sleep phase syndrome - isn't until tomorrow. I've just had. . . a Burgermare!!

Giving credit where it's due, I have to admit that "Burgermare" is not my word. My boyfriend coined it way back in the day, when he was flipping burgers in college to make his Geo payment. We've all experienced them though, those nightmares about work stress. The work is different now - and so is the car - but the stress is still there.

I had decades that were blissfully Burgermare-free. Years of freelance, adjunct, and consulting jobs that weren't contingent on my being in a certain place at a certain time every single day - or if they were, I got to pick that time. Bliss!! I never knew how good I had it.

But one day I felt like I had to grow up and get a "real" job. I took a research position with a local corporation, complete with a Herman Miller non-cubicle, the Coffeebot, conference calls to London and 9:00am meetings. Oh, and flexible hours! Did I mention the flexible hours? I can come in as late as 10:00 - except on those meeting days, of course. Which are pretty much every day. And the 45 minute commute? Well, turns out it's an hour and 45 minutes during rush hour. And don't forget, there's no parking near the office. The company conveniently provides a parking garage about half a mile away. Add 15 minutes to the morning for the walk. What does that add up to? Do the math. It means leaving my house by 7:00am every morning. Getting up at 6:00. Setting the alarm for 5:30 because I know it'll take several snoozes before I even notice it. 6:30 on a good day, when I don't have an early meeting. Which is, it turns out, pretty much never.

That's 5:30. AM. Morning.

What on earth was I thinking??????

Four months later, I sit here exhausted. Run-down. Physically and emotionally beat up. I flash back to childhood, when I went from a private school that started at 9:30 to a public school that started at 7:10, igniting a morning battle between me and my mom that lasted until I left home.

Let the Burgermares begin.

I knew that I had a delayed sleep phase. I was diagnosed with it years ago, and have even participated in a scientific study on the matter. Unfortunately, even though researchers are gaining a better understanding of circadian rhythm disorders, there's still very little we can do to try to manage the condition. There is certainly no "cure" and no common understanding of how hard it is to live out of sync. It's often viewed as a moral issue, and we find ourselves subjected to socially constructed norms about time and work that just don't work for us.

I've been one of the lucky ones, with a career that's allowed me to accommodate my late sleep phase the vast majority of the time. I don't know if I deliberately chose that, but I did deliberately rule out certain careers that I knew required early hours - like law school. Now? I'm a sociologist. Graduate school nurtured me, let me work during my best hours, and sheltered me from the real world. When the real world hit me, it was devastating. I always believed that I could wake up early if I had to, that I could adjust to a "normal" schedule. It's painfully clear now that I cannot. This is beyond my control.

I've submitted my resignation and I'll be returning to my previous consulting firm. My work there is a godsend. I will never underestimate the value of working with people who value the product of your work far more than they value the time of day you do it. When you have DSPS, that's priceless.

I will, however, be starting a study of my own. I didn't realize how damaging and difficult it is to live with DSPS in the everyday 9-5 world. I have a lot of questions. Why didn't I tell my company about my DSPS? Why do I feel judged for something that, to me, is so obviously out of my control? Why didn't I believe it was out of my control for all those years? Why don't HR departments know about this? How do other people cope? What careers do they choose? Does it affect our parenting choices (I have not had children)? Does DSPS exist in other cultures?

Mostly, I want to share our experiences with those who don't understand us. If you want to share your story and raise awareness of circadian rhythm disorders, I'd love to talk to you. Please e-mail me at DSPSresearch@gmail.com and tell me a little about yourself and how DSPS affects your life. Let's tell our stories, and strive for change.

Ban the Burgermares!