I have a life-long animosity for alarm clocks.
This first became apparent when I was in first grade, and had to be up in time to get to school by Eight AM (I had been in an afternoon kindergarten class, blissfully free until 12:30.) I ignored my alarm clock completely, making my mother come time and time again to call, wheedle, and threaten me out of bed. When words alone did not suffice, she moved on to diplomacy by other means: tickling, dragging, repeated threats of ice cubes (I cannot recall whether these threats ever became reality, but from the force they carried I think they must have, at least once.)
Things did not improve with middle school.
When I entered ninth grade, however, I also entered the world of early morning seminary, a Mormon religious institution designed to provide students with scriptural instruction at an hour when they were most in need of reminders about charity. The upshot of this was that my alarm clock was now set two hours earlier, and I couldn't count on my mother to be awake in time to remind me.
Fortunately, pajamas were acceptable dress in my seminary class, so I didn't have to rouse myself too early.
I got better at heeding the alarm, but as my 70% seminary attendance freshman year attests, not much better.
It was not until my senior year that I discovered the snooze button. I couldn't use it much before class (my alarm was set at 5:45 AM, and I could hit the snooze once, leaving it to call again at 5:55, and still get to seminary in time) but I would often return home and set another alarm for 7:15, sometimes hitting the snooze twice, sometimes three times, and thus surfacing to grab breakfast and rush out the door only sometime between 7:30 and 7:45.
It didn't help that I lived in a basement, in a room natural light rarely dared to enter.
These recollections come to my mind because the conflict between man and alarm clock has begun anew for me: This past week, my alarm has been set to 7:50 am. I have hit the snooze once, twice, three times, four, five, once a sixth. Other days, I turn the alarm off, but still don't rise from the bed. Today, I arose at 8:30... only to return and sleep another hour.
I don't know whether I'll ever learn to listen to an alarm clock. I hope that someday, I can learn to greet the day early, even without one, as I do on a camping trip.
Really, I think many of my everyday struggles would disappear if I lived in a tent.
This first became apparent when I was in first grade, and had to be up in time to get to school by Eight AM (I had been in an afternoon kindergarten class, blissfully free until 12:30.) I ignored my alarm clock completely, making my mother come time and time again to call, wheedle, and threaten me out of bed. When words alone did not suffice, she moved on to diplomacy by other means: tickling, dragging, repeated threats of ice cubes (I cannot recall whether these threats ever became reality, but from the force they carried I think they must have, at least once.)
Things did not improve with middle school.
When I entered ninth grade, however, I also entered the world of early morning seminary, a Mormon religious institution designed to provide students with scriptural instruction at an hour when they were most in need of reminders about charity. The upshot of this was that my alarm clock was now set two hours earlier, and I couldn't count on my mother to be awake in time to remind me.
Fortunately, pajamas were acceptable dress in my seminary class, so I didn't have to rouse myself too early.
I got better at heeding the alarm, but as my 70% seminary attendance freshman year attests, not much better.
It was not until my senior year that I discovered the snooze button. I couldn't use it much before class (my alarm was set at 5:45 AM, and I could hit the snooze once, leaving it to call again at 5:55, and still get to seminary in time) but I would often return home and set another alarm for 7:15, sometimes hitting the snooze twice, sometimes three times, and thus surfacing to grab breakfast and rush out the door only sometime between 7:30 and 7:45.
It didn't help that I lived in a basement, in a room natural light rarely dared to enter.
These recollections come to my mind because the conflict between man and alarm clock has begun anew for me: This past week, my alarm has been set to 7:50 am. I have hit the snooze once, twice, three times, four, five, once a sixth. Other days, I turn the alarm off, but still don't rise from the bed. Today, I arose at 8:30... only to return and sleep another hour.
I don't know whether I'll ever learn to listen to an alarm clock. I hope that someday, I can learn to greet the day early, even without one, as I do on a camping trip.
Really, I think many of my everyday struggles would disappear if I lived in a tent.
In my new bedroom, the window must face East, because the sun streams in around 6:30 am. It does help me wake up.
ReplyDeleteThere must be some other complications that come with living in a tent, though. Maybe not.