It is a myth universally acknowledged that an undergrad in possession of free time must be in want of a Third. Proverb dictates that time is precious, time is money, time is short. Culture has rebranded time as our enemy, and drawn us together in eternal, fruitless combat. For some, this can be an incentive, placing them in an adrenaline-fuelled, existential race against the clock, but for most it fails to empower and serves only to paralyse, driving them into the mire of doubted choices and remorse.

This is never truer than in Cambridge, where the short 8-week term intensifies activity and makes time-guilt a normal experience. There is ‘so much to do’ that we mythicise our moments, and what should be a realm of possibility becomes little more than a 2-month ticking prison.

Most of us can see the importance of breaks, if only because of the consoling (and highly fashionable) notion of a ‘work-life balance’, but how we spend those delicious minutes/hours/days is another matter entirely. We have developed a hierarchy of free-time activities that is both complex and arbitrary in equal measures.

According to this index, taking a night off to go clubbing is acceptable, because it constitutes group socializing with a discernible end goal; similarly, watching a TED talk or writing a letter or learning an obscure African dialect would qualify as relaxation in its most productive form. On the other hand, an afternoon spent learning B*Witched lyrics, reading Buzzfeed articles entitled ‘The 35 funniest reactions to this chair’, or lying in the foetal position watching re-runs of Boy Meets Girl/The West Wing/Recess would constitute a brazen and shameful waste of time.

What qualifies some ‘extra-curriculars’ as valid, some as sinful procrastination? What makes ‘going for a run’ a savvy, Cambridge-approved use of 30 minutes, while compiling a photo-collage of Putin pulling stupid faces is an hour (weekend) irredeemably squandered? The underlying issue is one of self-improvement: where we perceive ourselves to be growing as individuals, mentally or physically, we award a gold star; when we’re seen to indulge emotional whims or physical urges, we get a demerit. Wednesday at Cindies only escapes condemnation because it’s validated by a special pact which gives otherwise impulsive or frivolous activities an aura of worth. This social contract is inevitably played out the morning after, when revellers exchange words of faux-regret and go through the rigmarole of competitive self-deprecation. Exclamations such as ‘I have SO much work, really shouldn’t have gone’ or ‘Can’t believe I was that drunk, I’m such a disaster’ reveal the Jedi mind game that can only be won with six ‘I’m-going-to-Fail Marys’.

When a friend decided to take a day off from revision – and submerge himself for 24 hours in the jacuzzi of mindless drivel – I was shocked by the reaction that followed. A fragrant mixture of horror and bemusement, served with a healthy dollop of self-righteous interrogation. Comments such as ‘wow, do you have time for that?’ and ‘what a great idea, I wish I could afford to do the same’ were dressed up as supportive asides, but the subtext was clear: take as many days off as you like, but I won’t be joining you, because I intend to succeed. Faced with the silent judgement of his peers, that day off was swiftly reviewed, shortened to a sad footnote at the end of an exhausting week.

Maybe Einstein was right, and we should see time for what it really is: relative. This has nothing to do with laziness or apathy, nor does it endorse an unbridled hedonism devoid of time management. Of course we should stay interested - a desire to grow and diversify and self-improve is arguably one of our greatest assets - but if we only embark on tasks with a known end point we deny ourselves the joy of the inane, the light and shade of living. You may not ‘learn’ anything tangible or profound from a how-to Twerking video, but don’t be fooled by the misconception that unproductive equals unworthy.

Learning to be comfortable in your own company, learning to let go, learning to silence your internal monologue for a few moments every day; these are invaluable human skills that shouldn’t be the sole preserve of Buddhists and Zen Masters. It’s about time we revelled in the silly, meaningless nonsense, without the emotional backlash. It’s about time we got downright foolish.