I am sitting inside the library, by the window. The sun is warm and golden in my hair and on my face. ‘Mostly sunny’ reads the weather report in the bottom left corner of my laptop. I can hardly see the screen because the day outside is so bright, but I know that my essay is unwritten. The page is white in front of me. I have hours of work left to finish before I can head outside and enjoy the weather guilt-free.

“The sun will come out again. Ice-cream won’t cease to exist”

In the last week or so, spring has sprung. We’ve had rain too, of course, but finally the sun has come out, and King’s Parade is full of students in shorts and long floral skirts all over again. One morning, my friend and I are due to have coffee, to celebrate her 21st birthday. I buy us iced lattes and slices of lemon cake in white cardboard boxes from Fitzbillies, but instead of sitting inside the cafe we take them away with us so we can sit and absorb the sunshine. Within 15 minutes, we have bumped into my supervisor, my housemate, two of the girls on my netball team, and the guy I have been seeing, all completely by accident. It seems the whole city has emerged out of college doors and into the yellow weather, intent on making the most of it regardless of the deadlines and work still waiting.

Fortunately, Lent Term is now over. Supervisions are thinning out and essay deadlines are mostly met. However, looking ahead to Easter, the dreaded exam term, I know that this feeling of being torn between sitting on the grass or sitting in the library is only going to get worse. As soon as the sun comes out, there is an expectation that our calendars must be filled with brightly coloured plans. Summer drinks, summer barbecues, summer picnics. Summer anything, as long as we are outside and having fun. A feeling of unease clouds inside spaces, which are suddenly much smaller and stuffier than they were when Cambridge was grey and wet.

This awful sense of guilt about missing out on all the things happening in the sun, happening somewhere totally separate from wherever we are: it infects everything. I sit at my desk, wishing I was swimming or cycling or rowing instead of concentrating on the work I am supposed to be doing. I eat two scoops of ice-cream every time I pass Jack’s Gelato, even though I’m not really that hungry. The loaf of bread in my kitchen cupboard goes stale because I have been convinced by well-meaning friends to eat lunch in town every day. When I am outside in the sun, I am thinking about how I should be inside studying. When I am inside studying, I am thinking about how I should be outside in the sun. Every minute of daylight must be used up.

That morning on King’s Parade I am very aware of the work I need to finish before the weekend. At the back of my mind, my to-do list sits waiting. I know that I have reading to get through and a dissertation draft to edit. I know that I have revision to start. There are a huge number of things that I ought to be doing instead of sitting on King’s Parade eating lemon cake, but here I am, not doing any of them.

Instead of feeling bad, I choose to enjoy it. I know that the following day will also be summery and lovely, and that I will have to sacrifice those hours of sunshine to complete the things that I did not complete today, but I also know that there will be other days which are summery and lovely, just like this one. The sun will come out again. Ice-cream won’t cease to exist. The people I most want to sit in the sun and drink coffee with will still be there to sit in the sun and drink coffee with next week, or next month.

“Outside, I think I should be studying. Inside, I think I should be in the sun”

Don’t feel bad if you end up spending a day in your room with the curtains closed, or at the back of the library, the part that doesn’t have huge glass windows like the Seeley or the Squire. Go to bed early. Wake up late. Cook breakfast for yourself, or have cereal, instead of ordering an expensive brunch. See your friends when you want to, not when the weather dictates. There’s time for everything. It just won’t all be today.