Thursday, August 19, 2004 Last night, I was informed that we'd be starting work at 8 AM today. This did not come as a surprise -- I'd seen today's call sheet -- but I did become a little concerned about my ability to make it. I'm normally due at the office by 9 AM, and I try to arrive earlier. These attempts, however, have been foiled recently by my daredevil biological clock, which is involved in a cutthroat game of chicken with my actual clock. The past three days this week, I've woken up in spurts starting at around 7:30 AM, one eye blearily opening just enough to determine that yeah, I can totally go back to sleep until I REALLY need to wake up. So I do, and I do, and I do, until my two alarms have been turned off and I finally look at the clock and oh CRAP, it's 8:24! And I mean, exactly 8:24 on Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday we pushed it to 8:27. I'm sharing a body with Evel Knieval, but instead of taking risks with my spine we're taking risks with my paycheck. Not sure if that's a good trade-off or not. Especially given the way I had to drive on Wednesday. So, last night I made my preparations for the battle of the century. Time vs. Evel. Responsibility vs. Biology. Cold Floor vs. Warm Bed. The Alarm Clocks vs. A Sleeping Liz. Place your bets. 7:03: The digital alarm clock by my bed starts blasting classic rock. I slap it down with relative ease. 7:06: The clock starts to beep. I shut it down cold. 7:07: Just as I'm getting my eyes closed again, my cell phone's alarm (placed just out of arm's reach) starts to tweep. I nearly fall out of bed as I stretch toward my desk, blind fingers searching out the matte plastic. Silence follows one feeble jab at the buttons. 7:10: Slowly, I start to hear Rage Against the Machine insist that I "WAKE UP." The song grows in volume to shaking-the-walls limits before I roll (literally) out of bed, get off the floor, and stumble to my computer, where the MP3 Alarm Clock program cheerfully asks if I want to snooze. No, I inform it. I want to sleep. 7:11: I sit on the edge of my bed. Remembering where I was, why I have to get up, why it's important that I wake up and arrive at work on time. 7:12: I grab one of my pillows, placing it on the foot of my bed as I stretch out -- technically not back IN bed, just resting for a moment. Won't hurt to close my eyes, I think to myself. It's not like I'll go back to sleeeeeee... 7:14: Roger Staubach throws a Hail Mary. Michael Jordan goes for The Shot. And the archaic, decrepit, half-broken old-school hand-wound alarm clock that I reserve for emergencies, the one that has a tendency to fall off the TV with its own vibrations, the one with a picture of Lucy and Ethel under the glass and a sound more annoying than their laughs... "Lucy and Ethel" starts to blare, and I jump off the bed and into the bathroom to start washing my face. Score one for the home team. I arrived two minutes early. | permalink blog • archives • photos • about • contact This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License. All content © 2004.