A Change of Guard

A

I woke this morning and looked down—ever so slightly—at my little alarm clock’s numbers, silently glowing 4:32, there on the floor, (since having it sit up on a proper nightstand beside my newly, floor-mounted mattress was, by all means, a clash of decorative elements) and realized that I had forgotten how its alarm sounded.

I know that I didn’t wake to random radio back in the days that I employed the alarm—too much of a chance there of getting started off on the wrong foot; of having some ridiculous song burnt into my vulnerable morning-head and play loop-style for the remainder of the day. Worse yet was the risk of waking to the News.

I think the clock has a fairly standard electronic, pulsing, shrill for its alarm setting. Nothing danceable.

Anyway, all of my obligations for the past two years or so have been self inflicted, so this sound, this alarm, has faded from memory, like an ex-lover’s Minnesota accent. Poor, shunned, little function. Actually the clock itself runs fast and I’d be rid of it entirely, but there’s an exclusively male part of me who insists on keeping useless things around, ‘just in case’.

It truly is a joy though, not having to be punctual on a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong; there are still obligations and deadlines. But they’re my little challenges! Mine and mine alone! To rise and conquer! When I take the notion to get out of my warm bed!

Or, of course, when Dog needs to be let out for his bit of business.