I have a somewhat messy relationship with my snooze button. Every morning is a fight between me and that stupid button. You would think after so many times of me clicking snooze that the alarm clock would give up, but no. Every day is a new struggle between me and my alarm.
Picture this: It’s a Monday morning and your head is still nestled into the cold side of the pillow. The blanket wraps around you, shielding you from the breeze that awaits you outside. Mourning doves begin to coo, as you desperately pray to stay asleep.
But then it happens. RING RING RING. The phone blares into my ears like an annoying kid on a road trip who keeps asking, “Are we there yet?” The snooze button is so mesmerizing. I am fully aware that I have to wake up at some point, but it’s calling my name. It’s like those big red buttons labeled in all-caps DO NOT TOUCH, but you just can’t resist. I treasure those extra seconds of sweet oblivion because to me ignorance is bliss.
Five minutes later, my phone vigorously shakes and a new sound emits from the speaker. BEEP BEEP. This one is more annoying than the first. I don’t know why I torture myself with eight different alarms each morning. I set the alarms every night before bed knowing how much I loathe the sound and the buzz. That relentless clock has a hold against me, even though I hate it so much. It’s a vicious cycle of sleeping and waking that I can’t escape.
What’s funny to me is I used to hate sleeping. I would wake up at the crack of dawn and jump on my mom’s bed to get her attention. I also despised naps as a kid. I resisted nap time every day in kindergarten because I felt like it was trying to take my day away from me. Even when my mom tried to put me to bed, I longed to stay up for a few extra moments. Staying up till 8:30 at the ripe age of five is so exhilarating. But now I’m sixteen and my bed is a magnet pulling at my limp body after school. I long for those stolen moments of slumber and midday peace. I can sleep away all my troubles and ignore that math test I should probably be studying for. Yet that alarm ruins my hibernation every single time.
Back to my morning routine. By the time I crawl out of bed, I only have 20 minutes to get ready for the day. I have hit the snooze button so many times that I lost count. I begrudgingly brush my hair while my body is still in sleep mode, protesting against the demands of the morning time. I may look half-awake, but I feel fully asleep. My mind is in a haze. Those few minutes before school are a race between me and the clock, but also a battle between me and the urge to go back to bed.
Weirdly enough, this alarm isn’t just a me problem; it’s turned into a family ordeal. Every day when I come downstairs, my mom complains about my countless alarms. She says she can’t take the constant beeping any longer and that she would prefer if she just woke me up instead. I don’t trust her enough to do that, even though she is a self-proclaimed “early riser” with an internal alarm clock. I think my dogs have begun to spite me, too. My dogs shoot me a look of annoyance with every blare, heavily judging my morning wake-up routine. I do feel a little bad for the issues I have caused, but like I said, this is a habit I can’t break.
The loop repeats itself every morning with one cry from the alarm after another. But weirdly, I kind of enjoy the absurdity of it all. Something I hate is the reason I wake up every morning with new opportunities ahead of me. Maybe I need to stop living life on “do not disturb” and finally embrace the present. I came to resent my alarm, but now all I see is the bigger picture. No more naps and no more excuses. I can’t keep hitting snooze on what lies ahead of me. This is my love letter to my snooze button because even though I complain and sigh, I know we are in this together. So here’s to the daily struggle of waking up and to the snooze button, my reluctant motivator and nemesis. Without it, I could sleep through life’s alarm entirely. It’s time to make each moment count and wake up to new beginnings. So thank you, stubborn alarm, for showing me that sometimes things we resent the most are the ones that keep us going.
