Early Morning Riser

I am by nature a night owl, so when somebody tells me I can interview them at 6 a. m. I emit a silent groan. I was recently hired to interview a gentleman in the Midwest for a profile piece, and I asked his assistant for an additional contact—a friend or business acquaintance who might add some comments about the fellow. She sent me a name and number and told me I should call the man as early as 6 a. m. Groooaaan. I negotiate for 8 a.m. When do these early risers go to bed? Probably at 7:30 p.m. so they can get a jumpstart on torturing us folk whose circadian rhythms doom us to put up with Early Bird Special people.

So Jack gave me this alarm clock for Christmas. (He’s a morning person.) I can’t figure out how to set the thing AND it’s fifteen minutes fast, so I asked him to reset his clock for 7 a. m. (that's Eastern Standard Time) before he leaves for work in the morning. He does so, and places it on my nightstand, but he also sets my clock for the same. Therefore, my alarm clock jars me awake, from a not good night’s sleep. My pug roamed about and over me throughout the night as though I was a challenging mountain range. I dreamed about an appointment I had for coffee with writer friend Kimberly scheduled for later in the day.

The dream was full of the Sturm and Drang of my usually dreary nightly visions—terrorists, robbers, misunderstandings, late arrivals, some sort of a jumping mouse that I was trying to tame, a Malamute puppy, ridicule, my older sister and her friends (more ridicule), an annoying man with a giant cookie at an adjacent table (hmm), a history book, discovering that I had arrived at the appointment without a blouse, and so on. You know, the regular frustration fare.

Anyway, since my newly working alarm went off and I know the clock is fast, I hit snooze only to find that the snooze allows me a mere two extra minutes before sounding again, but I persist. Then the other clock goes off. Its snooze gives me three minutes. After a span of time recreating Chucky Cheese’s Gopher in the Hole game with the clocks, I decide to heck with it and get up. Drearily I pour a cup of coffee; soggily I arrange my notes for the interview; with exhaustion I pull up the interview number on my e-mail.

Wait a minute! I look at the area code. That doesn’t look like Ohio. Damn it to hell! This guy is in California! I have to wait three more hours to call him!

And another day begins.