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| Sunday, November 20, 2005 |
| How Alarming |
Yesterday I woke up with the sudden rememberance that my Friend-Around-The-Corner was going to pick me up at the unreasonably early hour of 8:15am, and I had forgotten to set the alarm. Fortunately, it was only 6:30. But all this talk of alarms reminds me of a story. Settle in. This may take a while.
Once upon a time, when Ata was a week-old newlywed, the day came when she and Mr Ata had to go back to work. Well, alright, to be completely accurate - Mr Ata had to go back to work, and Ata had to commence her final clinical placement. With most of the boxes unpacked from having moved in together, one important item was brought into play for the first time. I mean the Radio-Alarm Clock, of course, for all you budding smutmongers out there. Ata had a Radio-Alarm Clock that had been a birthday present when she turned.... 16? Something like that. Might have been 17. Anyway, this particular Alarm Clock had two little buttons on top - push one button, and you would be awoken at your specified time by the radio. Push the other button, and you would be awoken at your specified time by an electronic bleep-bleep-bleep. Living in the technologically advanced age that we do, I'm sure you're familiar with the concept. Ata preferred the Radio, and she would set it very very low, just on the threshold of hearing, so that she would be seduced into a state of wakefulness by the dulcet tones of the Breakfast Radio Crew of whatever station was annoying her least at that given time.
Anyway, the Radio-Alarm Clock had been installed on Mr Ata's side of the bed. The alarm was set for some hideously early, is-the-sun-up-yet time (by which I mean around 7:00 - Ata is Not Good with mornings). And Ata and Mr Ata went to sleep.
Seven AM arrived the next morning, and Ata sat bolt up right in a state of sheer panic, to the tune of BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP. Roswell shot off the bed and into the bathroom. Scrabbling over Mr Ata, Ata turned the alarm off. Being newlywed and young, so very, very young in the ways of marriage, Ata lay back, telling herself she would get used to it. If this was how Mr Ata set the alarm, it would be alright.
This lasted approximately a week. On the Friday, in a state of high nervous agitation from having been savagely torn from a state of deep sleep every morning, she explained her preference for the radio over the bleep-bleep-bleep. She managed to get across her extreme distaste for beeping alarms. Mr Ata readily agreed to change the alarm. The weekend passed with calm in the two-bedroom flat, and Ata went to sleep on Sunday night in the calm assurance that all would be well.
Monday morning was heralded with barnargle-tarby nargle dalanby! AHHHHAHAHAHAHA! Ata was again torn savagely from a state of deep sleep by the radio, turned up so loud that the voices of the Breakfast Radio Crew were distorted past any point of intelligibility (not that it made them any funnier, it should be noted). Roswell repeated her vanishing act from the bedroom, peering back around the bathroom door with startled eyes.
Becoming wiser in the ways of live-in relationships, and with a note of desperation in her voice, Ata explained again. Emphasising her need to be gently seduced into awakening by the dulcet tones, etc, etc, she requested that the radio be turned down. WAAAAAY down.
"But," said Mr Ata, perplexed, "I won't wake up if it's soft."
Through clenched teeth, Ata assured him that, if the Radio-Alarm Clock were on her side of the bed, SHE would hear it, and SHE would ensure he woke up. He agreed to this arrangement.
The next morning, all was well. Dulcet tones, and so forth. Ata poked Mr Ata several times to be sure he was awake, and hit the snooze button. Peace reigned - for approximately five minutes. Then there was a new sound: mee mee mee meep! mee mee mee meep! Roswell leapt up, mewing with consternation, and began head-butting Ata alternately with staring concernedly about the room, trying to locate the source of the sound.
Maintaining heroic control over her stressedness, Ata queried Mr Ata on the sound.
"It's my phone," he explained a little defensively. "Just in case the radio did not wake us up."
Four years on, Ata still cannot bear electronic alarms. They set her teeth on edge. Roswell still finds them alarming too, and has been known to bite the phone. Just gently. However, the mobile phone alarm now only gets set when Mr Ata has to get up but Ata doesn't - and he turns it off very, very promptly.
The End. |
posted by Ata @ 10:54 am  |
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| 3 Comments: |
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I changed my old clock radio for a plain 'bleep bleep' variety alarm clock a couple of years ago. Since it only goes off when I have to get up it's not so bad, but I often wake up almost leaping out of my skin.
It's not as bad as when I was at uni and my brother was still at school. As an arts student I never got up early, and every morning his radio would go off and wake me up while he would sleep right through it until I'd thrown enough things at the wall to wake him.
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Alarm clocks!
Toys of devil. Your Roswell is wise to bite them from time to time.
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Back in the uk I used an alarm clock that could play cassette tapes to wake me up. Nothing like a bit of Black Sabbath in the morning.
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I changed my old clock radio for a plain 'bleep bleep' variety alarm clock a couple of years ago. Since it only goes off when I have to get up it's not so bad, but I often wake up almost leaping out of my skin.
It's not as bad as when I was at uni and my brother was still at school. As an arts student I never got up early, and every morning his radio would go off and wake me up while he would sleep right through it until I'd thrown enough things at the wall to wake him.