Waking Up

Last week.

It’s already Monday, seeing as midnight is long behind us. Seeing as this is Australia, and I’m in a college, we’ve been drinking again. At The RE, unsurprisingly. But as I settle into bed at 5am, I know I’m not waking up. I set my clock for 7am, but my fate is sealed.

Miraculously, I get up in time for my noon class, at the expense of the first two lectures. These much needed extra hours do not prevent me from passing out in my one class, and walking home with criminological theories smudged on my face.

Tuesday. I’d like to believe I’ve learned from my mistakes. A reasonable bedtime, and classes that don’t start until 11. At 10am exactly, the alarm sounds. Somehow, I programmed it to a foreign language radio station, so a polite sounding women babbles at me in a possibly Asian language. Very melodic, but unacceptable at this hour.

I reach out, stretching as far as my considerably lengthy arms go, but only manage to flail at air. But I will not be dissuaded. I lunge the top half of my body out of bed and soar across the gap. My arm clings desperately to the table, while my feet dig in to the sheets for traction. My body makes a bridge over the turbulent dirty laundry below. With great effort in my half-asleep state, I slap the Snooze button, before doubling over my own body and resuming a curled fetal position under warm blankets. I can only dream about how proud that moment would make my yoga professor uncle.

But it was all in vain. Knowing myself, I set a second alarm on my computer. AC/DC breaks the still morning air. The strike came lightning fast: Covers peeled, feet hit the floor, two quick hops to the computer. Use the momentum from the last step to swing the arm, like a batter, and hit the space bar. Jump back into bed, conceal the body under warm blankets, and resume the curled fetal position.

The snooze cycle for both of these alarms are 6 minutes, and are staggered evenly between each other.

Dive for the alarm, dash to the computer. Every 3 minutes. Most people would be driven to insanity, or wakefulness, by this grueling cycle. I don’t need to tell you that I’m not most people. This waltz continues unchecked for almost an hour and a half, before I finally crawl out of bed. Lunch is the motivating factor, class is already over. I’m afraid this is less an isolated case and more the typical morning. My recurring nightmare.

Wednesday, I decide to give myself a fighting chance. Purposefully skip my first class, set the clock for 8. Chinese is replaced by German, and Bon Scott yields to a young Eric Clapton. And it almost worked. The mad dash went unabated for 45 minutes, and I gingerly got out of bed at 8:50. If I hurry, I can make my botany class. I’d only be a few minutes late.

Instead, I ate a leisurely breakfast, took a hot shower, listened to music in bed for an hour, and watched some old Doctor Who. If I’m going to have an ongoing feud with two alarm clocks for an hour every morning, I better damn well have a reason to get up. It’s sure as hell not class.