Sisyphus may roll his stone, but I have my morning alarm.
It rings.
My enemy.
I get up. It’s cold. Snooze. Ten minutes.
You could fall entirely back asleep in ten minutes.
You could have entire dreams in ten minutes.
The pillows are perfect.
Blankets close to me.
Everything is still.
The damn alarm rings.
I get up. Smash the snooze button.
What if I took out the hammer and sent it to all of the other alarms ringing in the sky? Far enough away that I could never ever hear it again and everything would be perfect and wonderful?
The sun is starting to shine through the windows.
Roll over.
I have time.
Time to sleep.
Time to let my eyes close.
All is quiet.
And that sick invention of Satan himself rings.
And so it is every morning, And the next morning, and the next, and the next, and the next.
Meg Schmidt (’16) graduated after studying writing and art history. Her interests include attempting to cook paleo, reading through McBrien’s Lives of the Popes, and landing the wittiest joke in a conversation. She currently works with Eerdmans Publishing as a Graphic and Production assistant.
