Day 91: Beep

I am addicted to my snooze button. I have been since I was a teenager and it's a filthy, filthy habit. I know. At my best, I only hit it once or twice. At my worst, I've run the snooze button down to a powder and slept through work/school/my wedding. At this point, after a good solid fifteen years of snoozin', it doesn't actually seem right to get up without pressing it. It feels like less than something.

There are various low-grade urban myths about snooze buttons. One is that the author of Ben Hur invented them. One is that every time you press it, you are left 30% more tired than if you didn't. And then there are seven billion theories as to why the snooze interval is nine minutes, none of which help you a) get any sleep or b) kick the habit.

Boyfriend does not use the snooze. Except when he has to get up at 6:00 on a Saturday to get to the pool by the godforsaken hour of 7:00.

The alarm clock is by my head. It's there for a reason: I use it every morning. We recently got a new clock because his old one sounded like some poor electronic animal was getting maimed and murdered every morning. I found it disturbing. We got a fancy alarm clock that fits your iPod and plays a happy morning playlist and allows you to start your day filled with joy and gratitude.

Only my iPod has found permanent residence in my gym bag. So we're back to the beeping. This newfangled clock has a symphony of beeps that builds from beep...beep...beep to BeeBeeBeep...BeeBeeBeep to BEEBEEBEEBEEBEEGETTHEEFFUPNOWBEEBEE, etc.

I have perfected the art of nailing that bad boy on the first or second beep. Even though I wear ear plugs. (Which is a whole other story that goes like this: "I don't snore." "Yes, you do.")

Boyfriend has perfected the art of sleeping through our neighbours' 3 a.m. Rock Band marathons and a woman who presses the snooze button seven times every morning.

So when it's his alarm, the following ritual must be observed:

beep...beepSLAM
(Nine minutes of semi-consciousness.)

beepSLAM
(Nine more minutes of semi-consciousness including the dim realization that I will have to let that thing beep until he hears it. Or smother him with a pillow.)

beep...beep...beep...beep
(I poke him.)

BeBeBeep...BeBeBeep
(I shake him hard enough that his head bounces off the pillow.)

BEEBEEBEEBEEBEEBEE
(He grunts, giving me indication that he is actually alive, albeit barely.)

He says: Fi' mo' minzzzzzzzzz...
(I press the snooze.)

And repeat until he quietly slips out of bed and tenderly kisses me on the forehead.

This morning was spectacular. We went through our Saturday morning ritual. Then, because I'm feeling guilty about not having worked on my book in several days, I reset the alarm for 7:30. I pressed snooze four times before turning it off and rolling over.

And then my cell phone alarm went off in the other room, forcing me to get up and start my day, exhausted and beep-ravaged. These things are land mines.

Only that's not the worst part. The worst part is Boyfriend's mother is staying with us. She, like a normal person, was probably looking forward to a nice, leisurely start to her weekend. Maybe she'd get up around nine-ish and pad down to the kitchen, smiling at the scent of fresh coffee. Maybe we'd have coffee together, smiling at each other over our steaming, fragrant cups before she trundled off, smiling. Instead, she was subjected to two hours of shrill, intermittent beeping loud enough to wake the dead. She'll probably never want to come back. She probably thinks I'm a bad fit for her son. She's probably telling him that right now. Stupid snooze button. Wrecked my life.