Ivy Starts In The Soil

It happens time and again. My feeble attempts at manhandling an upstart Cercadean rhythm have compelled me to set two alarm clocks. The exact time is really beside the point, but the sleep ratio isn't- I've never been able to rely on wallclock time, except as a barometer of abuse, meted out by (or, more rarely, inflicted upon) my fellow citizens. Only psychotic, type A managers could truly believe that optimum productivity comes from a steady diet of 8AM staff meetings; In the drone community, this Napoleonic cockwaving is seen only in its true light. Another opportunity to lock horns (metaphysically and literally) with other kind, considerate motorists in the mornings melee.

Whether due to delicate disposition, contrariness, or the overwhelming desire to Get A Good Night's Sleep, my befuddled senses are able to routinely shrug off the tender bleatings of portable (often airborne) alarm clocks.

"There's that sound again...", I mumble, "What the Fucque?"
Shall I hurl it out the front window, and under a passing truck?
Or maybe, fling it out the back window, and into the muck?

Appearances aside, this isn't the preamble of some disgruntled rant. Oh, no! I'm humbled and amused, that human nature should so frequently prevail over such boisterous contraptions.

"Snoozing through my funeral, late, and so totally screwed,
I'm surprised that I'm not in a much worse mood
Scratching, hoping to Bejeezus that the coffee's already brewed"

But what one alarm clock can't do alone (to break inertia, to promote the haggard to some semblance of perpendicularity, to induce mobility) might yet be achievable by two. Sounds reasonable, nicht wahr? Not really...

Dear colleagues, my observation on this matter is that, research to the contrary notwithstanding, mankind's fight for consciousness is as futile as paragliding into active volcanoes. We as a society revel in the accomplishments of the Movers and Shakers (note the active tenses) traipsing around, spreading their joy in what's dubbed the "Real World". Dreams (and their salutory benefits to our imaginations) get a decidedly dismissive treatment, as sleepers are rarely big consumers or producers of material goods, at least, not while they're asleep. There may be good reasons for keeping imaginations in better check, since they ultimately govern our actions (in both positive and negative senses). I guess I'll assume this remains the way of things- whether speaking of Ghandi or Hitler, less is said of how their dreams steered them, than of the methodologies they championed en route. I can see how tracking six billion, separate imaginations could represent a bookkeeping nightmare. One would have to be awake to participate in that, I suppose. Pity... Yeah, I'm afield again. That's what comes of blogging in a sleep-deprived state.

Where were we? ... oh yes, the redundant alarm clocks. It turns out that the battle rages on, whether along somewhat different tactical lines. I imagined that the strategy must be sound, though I'm rarely around to hear their harsh cacophony. I've been getting up before either clock intones and wandering off, to continue my torpor in another room. This unexpected twist has some really nasty repercussions. I've already awakened, sitting bolt upright (in a very uncomfortable parlor chair), on several occasions. Nor would it be uncommon enough for me to settle dust-ups between conflicting clocks, chirping away mindlessly in an otherwise empty room. This shows that, when drowsiness opens her inviting arms, there is no place sufficiently awkward to withstand such seductive blandishments, no time at which a little shut-eye is provably inappropriate. If there is a bright spark in this campaign, it must be the moratorium on senseless alarm clock extermination. Good thing, too; the accursed things respond poorly to whirling lawn mower blades.

"Care I for lightning strikes, or of basso profundo thunder?
Will nothing dispel this damnable urge to slumber?
The Sun's already setting on my weary head
Quickly! Someone! Usher me to a welcoming bed!"