Now that graduation is in the rearview mirror, the summer can begin. Since I work at a SLAC, most of my fellow professors are disappearing into the mist, not returning until mid-August. In the last few days leading up to commencement, everybody I talked to constantly complained about how tired they felt and were looking forward to a break. This article is not going to belittle that feeling. I understand completely. Rifling through several substandard final papers and awful exam results would likely tire anybody. Somebody can look at only so much mediocre work before fighting back the urge to run out into a busy highway.

However, something different is happening this year. There is a level of gloom hanging around not only my campus, but also other colleges and universities. Many of the professor forums I peruse are more depressing than usual, even at this point of the year. It seems like nobody is happy about anything.

It would be easy to suggest that professors in the United States face a lot of uncertainty right now, given who sits in the White House. I know a lot of them are politically active in some sort of way. At the very least, most professors are well-informed about the current political climate. However, there must be more to this puzzle than an angry orange discussing cutting budgets and raising tariffs that is bumming out my fellow PhDs.

My coworkers are so defeated that I can’t figure out how to lift their spirits. I proposed a decompression party for my fellow professors at my place. The idea is simple. They come to my place. We have a bonfire and cook some hot dogs. We don’t have to talk about work, politics, or anything. If they want to get crazy, they can make smores or mountain pies. I don’t care, come out and relax.

The problem is that most of them don’t even want to leave their house. Not even a week after graduation, they are content to lounge all day in their pajamas, doing nothing. That sounds nice, but my chemical imbalance, the Latimer Work Ethic, won’t allow it. I still go to campus every day to work on research or write articles like this one. I tried to find a cure for it, but the medical profession says that my condition is terminal and inoperable—just my luck.

What’s worse is that several coworkers are so downtrodden that they are seeking employment elsewhere. I know the plight of the small college is rough, but what is so bad that my colleagues are looking for alternatives? Small schools have quirks, and everybody knows everybody else’s business, but why do the other professors feel this way? Do they know something that I don’t? Is it like when animals run for higher ground when they sense a tsunami?

I must be so scarred from my time at Remus College that whatever is happening here isn’t even on my radar. I came from such a dysfunctional place before this gig that whatever is affecting my coworkers is not even registering with me. As far as I can tell, things seem okay here.

All I can do now is be friendly and supportive of my fellow faculty. Whatever is bumming them out I hope they can find a way to navigate their way out of it. I would like to see them sometime this summer before we have to return to campus for mandatory professional development.