Without warning, it pierces my skull, shattering whatever dreamworld I happen to be a resident of and throwing me jarringly back into wakefulness. It is loud, it is annoying, and until I do something about it, it won’t ever stop. I take a moment to mentally curse whosoever was cruel enough to invent the alarm clock, then slam my hand onto the one bit of mercy that person had. The alarm ceases, and I lay back, content with my temporary peace. I know the real battle will start again in ten minutes, but until then, there is only peace.
I don’t really know how or when I became so enamored with the snooze button. What I do know is that the ten minutes I have before I have to tear myself away from the warm embrace of my bed are absolute heaven. I can do whatever I want: I can mull over any dreams I may have had, I can plan out all the different things that I will have to do that day, or I can revel in the strange feeling of being not quite awake. For that ten minutes the world is my proverbial oyster, and there is nothing in the world that could possibly bring me down. Every problem, from the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to what I’m going to have for lunch, has a simple, perfect solution. Of course, most of the time I don’t actually know what the specifics of the solutions are, just that they are both simple and perfect.
The most important part of my ten minutes in the morning is the preparation it gives me for the rest of the day. Whenever I oversleep and am not able to spend that extra ten minutes, my mornings devolve into a confused rush. I’ll end up making mistakes, like putting my pants on backwards, which make getting ready take even longer than normal. Sometimes I even end up just standing around thinking, “What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” Those ten minutes that start my day don’t just allow me to solve the world’s problems, they serve as a sort of collection period where I can gather all of the different bits of knowledge that I need for the morning rush. After all, as cool as it is to be able to spout out the entirety of Bohemian Rhapsody, it’s not quite as helpful as knowing where I put my keys.
It may be fleeting, but I wouldn’t trade my ten minutes for anything in the world. Well, I would probably trade it for an eleven or twelve minute snooze button or a couple other things, but other than that, there’s not much out there valuable enough to possibly justify giving up the peace of mind my snooze button brings me. It’s all I really need in order to be ready in the morning, and it keeps me going long after I normally would have stopped. In short, I believe in hitting the snooze button.