My appliances are in cahoots and plotting ways to drive me mad.
For instance, I suspect my alarm clock – snatcher of dreams, night-buster, bringer of headaches – of outright lying to me.
I can’t go into a lot of detail here – I rely on the dang thing, after all, plus it reads my blog – other than to say that when the alarm goes off at 5:50 there are daily, whispered insinuations made, assurances of comfortable 10-minute “snoozes” that promise not to cut into my morning routine and to put me back into that dream-state I so enjoy.
This is a lie, of course. There is rarely such a thing as just one slap at the Snooze, anything and everything affects the morning routine, and another 10 minutes of sleep means nothing.
Like many people, I, for reasons that vary from getting to bed late to the inability to fall and stay asleep, am vulnerable to the Snooze.
And the early-morning bit, the lies the clock tells me? The lies I allow to ooze into my ears before I’ve attained full consciousness, the ones we are all vulnerable whilst pliably ensconced in the last precious moments of serene sleep? Those lies, I suspect, are universal.
What? What’s that? You are immune to the insidious ways of the morning snooze? You awaken smelling of clean sheets and optimism, bound out of bed, flow through 10 Sun Salutations and then pop into the kitchen for whole grains and pulverized-fruit juices before bicycling to work?
I’ve heard of people like you!
The truth is that I envy you people, the ones to whom the alarm clock does not lie, people that awaken of their own accord, refreshed and buoyant. Not that I’ve met one of your kind in person yet, but sources (and we’ll leave it at that: just “sources”) inform me that you’re out there.
The alarm clock may never be my friend but for now, it’s a necessary evil; and I’m sure it’s just trying to do what it’s told for as long as possible. It's a tough economy, after all, and even a job as a waker of the unwilling is something.
I certainly can't do it on my own.
Everybody likes a little job security, after all.
Unlike that foolish iPod docking station of mine, whose buttons sometimes work and sometimes don’t.
That little SOB is walking on thin ice.