Stop all the clocks.
Please, someone stop all the clocks and pause time, because I am in desperate need of at least another hours sleep.
Did Bernard ever share the secrets of his magical watch with the world? Not a day goes by where I don't yearn to be able to halt the world so I can sleep my worries away.
Okay, a little depressing, but we've all been there. The dreaded alarm, rudely snatching us from our perfect dream clouds and plunging us back into the cold depths of reality. The false promises of the snooze button; it isn't our friend. It laughs at us and lies to us and taunts us.
Recently, I've been forced to take some extreme measures to get me up in the morning.
Before bed, I craftily hide my alarm in the pocket of my bag, zip up the pocket, zip up the bag, zip a jacket around the bag, zip a coat around the jacket, button another coat around the coat, and tie a thick winter scarf around this mad alarm-bag-jacket-coat sleep-busting contraption.
This will work.
This has to work.
But no force on earth can stop the sleep deprived.
A Jekyll and Hyde scenario; I don't recall what happens.
Somehow, I manage to locate the alarm and stop it.
I don't doubt that in my state of slumber I could deactivate a bomb if it meant I could go back to sleep. I could probably kill a man; 'the sleeping sniper', that's what they'd call me.
On the rare occasion when I do manage to get up on time, it is only my physical being that has cooperated. I eventually wake up around 2 hours When tiredness hits
after I've left my bed, feeling dazed and confused,
with a vague and distorted memory of how I actually
got into uni.
Once it hits 2pm, my day takes a very different turn. A huge burst of energy hits me like a train, most likely from the coffee drip I was hooked up to earlier to prevent me slipping into a coma.
The world seems to spin slower as the caffeine courses through my veins; I'm the lead in the ballet of life, leaping and gliding around campus. I stop for no one.
Until the crash.
My balloon of energy rapidly deflates at around 6pm, and I immediately have to stop and have a sit-down. I take some deep breaths, and reflect on how ashamed my 91-year old member-of-2-walking-clubs grandmother would be if she could see me in this pathetic state.
I get into bed at around 11pm, formulating excuses for my poor attempt at work for the previous 5 hours, and after half an hour of caffeine twitches, I slip into my unconscious haven, praying for my soul for the day I start a 9-5 job.