I have one of those radio alarm clocks. And although I never have it set to radio, sometimes the static from the stations still comes through. It’s always done that, since the very first day that I took it out of its happy little box and placed it beside my bed.
Normally, if I give it a good whack, the static will stop for a few days, and my alarm clock and I continue on the path of strained but symbiotic friendship.
But in the last few days, the static doesn’t retreat when I beat on the clock. In fact, it has grown louder and more insistent than ever.
When I pointed it out to my husband the other night, he fiddled with it long enough to declare it was a “lost cause,” and as he turned over to set his own very quiet alarm clock, promised he’d buy me a new one in a few days.
So I pushed the clock as far away from me as I could, turned out my light, and attempted to sleep.
Even over the constant white noise of the fan in the corner, I could still hear the incessant buzzing of my alarm clock.
It’s safe to say that I didn’t get much sleep.
By the time Brian got up and left the house for work the next morning, I’d finally managed to find the perfect noise-deafening location on the bed, which only worked if I was laying sort of diagonally across the mattress with my head farther away from the clock and my feet dangling over the edge.
It wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable position, but it allowed me to fall asleep.
I was just beginning a dream involving Nathan Fillion bringing me a hot cup of coffee when my entire world exploded into a cacophony of noise. Apparently, in his attempt to fix my alarm clock the night before, Brian had inadvertently switched my preferred alarm clock beep to the radio.
And I was awoken by SmashMouth singing at the top of their voices.
Half-asleep, I tried to escape the inexplicable danger the only way I knew how—by attempting to put my feet on the floor and get the hell out of dodge. In a tangle of sheets and comforter, I wound up falling flat on my face by the bed instead, whacking my head on the baseboard in the process. That was enough to wake me up to the point that I realized I wasn’t being attacked by a gravelly-voiced band of zombies, but instead had been jarred awake by the static-y 90s station.
I’ve always said that mornings that start with a little music always lead to a good mood all day. I think I can now argue the opposite.