Alarm 3
I awoke to hear my alarm going off. I walked over to my alarm clock and hit the snooze button, but the rhythmic beeping continued. I hit snooze again, with no effect.
Not realizing I was still dreaming and not actually touching the real alarm clock, I tried turning off the alarm altogether. For a few minutes my suspension of disbelief was actually strong enough to block out the continuing sound, and I went back to sleep. Inevitably, though, I begin to hear the alarm again, which had never really stopped, and I went over to the alarm clock again. In a fit of desperation, I finally pulled the plug from the wall. The clock went dark.
The beeping continued.
Knowing there had to be rational explanation for all this, I listened to the direction of the noise and noticed that it was coming from my left (the direction of the actual alarm clock from my bed) instead of straight in front of me, as the sound from my dream alarm clock should have. I glanced to my left, and saw a second identical alarm clock, beeping away in the corner of my bedroom. With no undue ceremony this time, I jumped straight at it and pulled its plug.
Again my brain blocked out the sound for a few seconds to be consistent with the dream events, but then I heard the sound slowly fade into my dream again.
After briefly questioning my own sanity, I turned around and found another alarm clock against the other wall. I unplugged it. This time the beeping continued, uninterrupted.
In a frustrated haze, I ambled out the door to my bedroom, finding myself in my grandmother's old 13th street house in Lubbock. There was another alarm clock in the hallway. I disarmed this one as well.
Getting used to the routine at this point I found another clock in each of the hallway closets, and another in the next bedroom over.
Each alarm clock I came across now was different than the last: football clocks, Mickey Mouse clocks, old fashioned dual bell clocks (which still beeped instead of rang, nevertheless), clock radios, the clock in the microwave and oven, the clock in the coffee maker, large clocks, tiny travel alarm clocks, wrist watches. . . . On and on I went through the house eliminating one clock after another.
Soon, I'd dealt with my frustration and was beginning to feel amused at this unprecedented collection of clocks.
Their hiding places became more and more devious: on top of a ledge in the kitchen, inside Tupperware containers in the cabinets. I even found one clock submerged in a bathtub full of water.
Going back into the living room, I discovered my brother, curled up in a chair, doubled over with laughter.
"April Fools!" he shouted. "There are sixty clocks! You still have a lot left. Keep going?"
I began counting out loud as I unearthed the source of each new beep.
"Number 43, in the sock drawer."
"Number 44, in a jeans pocket."
"Number 45, behind the heating vent."
Finally, I'd found 59 clocks, and, with my brother following me around and enjoying watching me deal with this challenge, I wandered the entire house in vain looking for the very last one. No matter where I went, the sound seemed to always migrate, almost supernaturally migrate to the next room over, or just behind the wall, or beneath the floor or above the ceiling.
"Give up yet?" my brother asked.
"Yes! Please, for my sanity's sake, WHERE IS IT?" I shouted.
"Wake up," he said.
I opened my eyes, for real this time, and there in my actual bedroom sat my original alarm clock. I turned it off, and started getting ready for work. I couldn't help but be amused that my April Fools Day prank this year was played on myself.
Not realizing I was still dreaming and not actually touching the real alarm clock, I tried turning off the alarm altogether. For a few minutes my suspension of disbelief was actually strong enough to block out the continuing sound, and I went back to sleep. Inevitably, though, I begin to hear the alarm again, which had never really stopped, and I went over to the alarm clock again. In a fit of desperation, I finally pulled the plug from the wall. The clock went dark.
The beeping continued.
Knowing there had to be rational explanation for all this, I listened to the direction of the noise and noticed that it was coming from my left (the direction of the actual alarm clock from my bed) instead of straight in front of me, as the sound from my dream alarm clock should have. I glanced to my left, and saw a second identical alarm clock, beeping away in the corner of my bedroom. With no undue ceremony this time, I jumped straight at it and pulled its plug.
Again my brain blocked out the sound for a few seconds to be consistent with the dream events, but then I heard the sound slowly fade into my dream again.
After briefly questioning my own sanity, I turned around and found another alarm clock against the other wall. I unplugged it. This time the beeping continued, uninterrupted.
In a frustrated haze, I ambled out the door to my bedroom, finding myself in my grandmother's old 13th street house in Lubbock. There was another alarm clock in the hallway. I disarmed this one as well.
Getting used to the routine at this point I found another clock in each of the hallway closets, and another in the next bedroom over.
Each alarm clock I came across now was different than the last: football clocks, Mickey Mouse clocks, old fashioned dual bell clocks (which still beeped instead of rang, nevertheless), clock radios, the clock in the microwave and oven, the clock in the coffee maker, large clocks, tiny travel alarm clocks, wrist watches. . . . On and on I went through the house eliminating one clock after another.
Soon, I'd dealt with my frustration and was beginning to feel amused at this unprecedented collection of clocks.
Their hiding places became more and more devious: on top of a ledge in the kitchen, inside Tupperware containers in the cabinets. I even found one clock submerged in a bathtub full of water.
Going back into the living room, I discovered my brother, curled up in a chair, doubled over with laughter.
"April Fools!" he shouted. "There are sixty clocks! You still have a lot left. Keep going?"
I began counting out loud as I unearthed the source of each new beep.
"Number 43, in the sock drawer."
"Number 44, in a jeans pocket."
"Number 45, behind the heating vent."
Finally, I'd found 59 clocks, and, with my brother following me around and enjoying watching me deal with this challenge, I wandered the entire house in vain looking for the very last one. No matter where I went, the sound seemed to always migrate, almost supernaturally migrate to the next room over, or just behind the wall, or beneath the floor or above the ceiling.
"Give up yet?" my brother asked.
"Yes! Please, for my sanity's sake, WHERE IS IT?" I shouted.
"Wake up," he said.
I opened my eyes, for real this time, and there in my actual bedroom sat my original alarm clock. I turned it off, and started getting ready for work. I couldn't help but be amused that my April Fools Day prank this year was played on myself.