FROM THE ARCHIVES | ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON 11.29.2017
While looking for things to feature in a Black Friday/Cyber Monday round up of deals I stumbled across this t-shirt and immediately thought, “If I ever get a tattoo it’s going to be these exact words in giant block letters across my forehead so that no one ever has any doubt as to where I stand on this issue.”
Waking up is the worst part of any day regardless of whatever horrible thing that has yet to happen that day. Once someone drew up an official court document to try to convince a judge that my depression made me an unfit mother — True story! I’ve never mentioned this before! And it never brings me comfort when I think about it! — and still. STILL. The day my divorce attorney showed me that document I was like, “Yeah, this sucks, but remember when I had to open my eyes this morning? I survived that bullshit yet again which means it is highly likely that I’m going to be walking the earth alone with the cockroaches after the apocalypse.”
The only way that I have managed to make getting out of bed in the morning even remotely bearable is criminal overuse of the snooze button. And I do not care who knows or how harshly you might be judging me for it because, guess what? I am awake and able to write these words. Wanna know how? THE FUCKEN SNOOZE BUTTON.
Wanna know how much snooze button? Once I did it for four hours straight and didn’t once get remotely annoyed. Because every time the alarm would go off I’d realize, “NINE MORE MINUTES, MOTHERFUCKERS.” And that feeling of nine more minutes is the exact same feeling I had whenever I’d walk into the cafeteria in high school during lunch and realize, “Holy shit! They made Rice Krispie treats today? Guess whose got cash burning a hole in the back pocket of her jeans, assholes.”
I haven’t always been this angry. I once took an afternoon nap when I was 14 and it chilled me down a notch.
I don’t do four hours of snooze-button-pushing very often, but every morning I set my alarm for 6AM and hit that delightful option five times. Yep! One, two, three, four, FIVE! 45 straight minutes of snooze-button hitting. And I love it. As much as I hate waking up, I possess an inversely proportional adoration for the snooze button. The first time it goes off I am almost overcome to the point of orgasm with this thought:
“I have 45 more minutes to lie in this bed and do nothing.”
For those of you who would use that 45 minutes to be productive human beings, I salute you. You are a total badass. Except, I’m getting 45 more minutes of sleep. Which means by a wide scientific margin I am far more enjoyable at parties than you will ever be.
Recently someone suggested that I try a wake-up light (specifically this Philips Wake-up Light) to ease the pain of the actual waking up part that occurs at the end of the snooze-button-hitting. And I was reluctant because I figured that nothing in this world can take way the pain of having to abandon my warm bed for the onslaught of human existence.
You could walk into my bedroom at 6:36AM, lean down and gently whisper in my ear that Björk has assembled an orchestra in my living room to serenade me with the song from Dancer in the Dark that would gently scratch an itch I have about getting my ass up outta bed to see more of the world, and I’d mumble angrily through gritted teeth, “Tell her I need nine more minutes.”
But, what the hell? Why not get a moderately fancy digital butler? Having a light turn on by itself very slowly next to my head in the morning wouldn’t be creepy at all! Why not cover the clock’s face with a transparent clown mask and have its giant red nose blow up like a balloon with each buzz of the alarm? Better yet, just have a gaggle of rattlesnakes crawl out of the alarm into my bed and let me choose between a pretty quick and horrific death, or, you know, a very tempting few more minutes of slumber.
HINT: Slumber wins that dual. Every single time.
Bust my buttons, y’all. I totally underestimated this modern sundial. Here come the exclamation points! Because I am now waking up before the alarm goes off! Like, wide the fuck awake! This has to be witchcraft or voodoo! Maybe my mother specifically wrote on the prayer list in the temple, “Please let this wake-up light work on my daughter so that she doesn’t litter the internet with more needless profanity, Heavenly Father.” And then she wrote it again and addressed it to, “Heavenly Father and his only begotten son Jesus Christ.” Just to make sure she had covered all the Mormon bases.
What happened to me?
Now, don’t think I’ve gone batshit bonkers and given up the snooze button. I still use one to make sure that I don’t fall back asleep. But the stinging pain of waking up has been slowly slipping away over the last few weeks that I’ve been using this thing, and I am so horrified that I am just the tiniest bit closer to becoming a tolerable adult. BARF.
And just like that I have accidentally written a yelp review of a goddamn alarm clock:
4 stars! Would recommend it to the horrible person who sleeps next to you and tortures you with her sociopathic obsession with the snooze button. Much more legal and humane than smothering her slowly with her own pillow.