Seven Minutes

I’m a snooze junkie. I can’t help it, it’s a sickness. I don’t set the alarm to sound when I need to get outta bed; I set my alarm to sound 30 minutes before I absolutely have to get outta bed, and then hope that I get up sometime between. It’s stupid, I know. But it doesn’t seem stupid when the alarm is blaring away, and I’ve just come out of a dream, and it’s kinda chilly in the room but I’m warm under the blanket, and I just tell myself “I’m not ready to get up yet, but I will be ready in seven minutes.” It’s amazing what I can convince myself of in those vulnerable moments, when I just want the annoying noise to stop.

Now, let’s consider my wife, the unwilling participant in this daily ritual. There she is, minding her own business, happily cruising in REM, and then BEEP!!-BEEP!!-BEEP!! Well, no problem. It’s time for Chris to start getting ready for work. Then she drifts back to sleep, barely crossing that line into dreamland, and BEEP!!-BEEP!!-BEEP!! Hmmm, Chris must be tired this morning, but it’s about time for him to get up, or else he’s gonna be late. And then she relaxes again, falling into that moment when thoughts become vivid and a little bizarre and BEEP!!-BEEP!!-BEEP!! At this point, a poll of my constituency would indicate a sudden and significant drop in my approval rating. And I shudder to consider that I just might be amazed by what my constituency – one lovely woman trying to sleep next to me – can convince herself of in those vulnerable moments, when she just wants the annoying noise to stop. (Which makes me wonder what other annoying noises she desperately wishes would cease.)

Seven minutes! Whoever invented snooze is a cruel, cruel individual indeed, akin to the Pusher (hey man, the first one’s free, but you gotta pay after that!). I mean, seven minutes a day might get us on our way to a flatter stomach, but it does nothing for the amount of rest you can get in a night. And yet, we snooze junkies can convince ourselves that a seven minute chunk of time is the key to waking refreshed. And that faith in seven minutes creates a cycle of madness. Still tired? Just add seven minutes – you’ll feel better. Still tired? Just add seven minutes – you’ll feel better, really. Still tired?... And on and on until your wife can’t take it anymore and tells you to get outta bed or just turn off the alarm, for cry-aye.

It’s gotta stop, so let’s make this official. Hello, my name is Chris, and I’m a snooze junkie. I’m wallowing near the bottom and I don’t want this to continue, so I am hereby stating my intention: I will move my alarm clock to a place I cannot reach from my bed so there is no chance for me to hit that button without standing up and considering the futility of it all. I will not set the alarm too early, thereby avoiding the temptation to simply re-set the alarm and go back to bed. I will spare my wife the need to be incredibly patient with me for yet another of my bad habits.

There, I’ve said it. Thank you for listening.