wake up call

I wake up every morning to a symphony. A rare assortment of ‘things’ that blend their voices at the crack of dawn- long before my poor alarm clock has the chance to join the choir. The punctuality of this group amazes me. I have been here for a solid month, and without fail the music greets me. I am not impressed with their overall attitude, finding it quite all right to snag me in my dreams. Of course- they are pushy- and once they find me, set to work on nudging me out of my bubble of sleep so I can hear the prelude.

I am convinced there is a wolf living next door. His howl slices the silence in my room, more importantly in my head, and forces me to pay attention. I’m telling you, this is a pushy group. After about three or four mournful calls, the choir is properly assembled. Tiger carries the base line- usually around the time the milkman comes and clinks his bottles onto the front steps. I’m assuming the deep throaty growl means he’s pissed off. For the time being, I can rejoice in his arthritic legs. He can’t climb the stairs.

I am also convinced Bethoven lives upstairs- one room over, in the attached house. The staccato notes pumped out of the piano feel no need to reside in their own home, but play around in my bed instead. No real winters make for paper thin walls- which are great if an orchestra is trying to get through to you. The piano to my left is matched with the sweet soprano of the shower to my right. Beccy is up, and the Tiger is now happy. His base line jumps an octave- resembling excited barks. Bear in mind the choir is keeping impeccable timing to the lone wolf’s incessant call. He’s got stamina. At this point, the sun has decided to peep up and join the action. It’s a silent accomplice to the symphony, operating on my eyes while my ears are kept busy. Kind of insensitive- to try to blind someone in their sleep. I am convinced the sun has special powers. I can’t ignore it. Once the sun gets involved, colours start changing, the birds get excited, the church bells start singing, and I’m done. There is no nudging your way back into sleep. The bubble is popped.

After all this, this repeated ritual, the continual practice or performance (there is no difference) that has been going on for roughly a month, it just makes me wonder- why the heck do I keep setting my alarm clock? I’m sure it’s depressed with its constant failure to start my day.