So the little town in which I live has experienced several power outages over the past few weeks. Having a particularly important court appearance this morning, I went out last night and purchased myself a nice, old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock. Y'know, just in case the power went out, I'd still have a working alarm clock to wake me up. Yes, one of those with the big bells on the top. Now, I had one of these as a kid, but it was old and the bells just kind of "dinged" in a muffled way. It was enough to notice that you needed to wake up, but not loud enough to wake the dead. So, I have to admit I truly had no idea what was in store for me. When 6:00 rolled around this morning . . . well, let's just say that there are finger marks--not just fingernail marks--in the plaster over the bed. It's pitch-dark around here at that time; I was nice and warm, snuggled up under all the blankets my LW threw on the bed. And suddenly a doorway to Hell opened up on my nightstand. And I couldn't find the little lever to silence the demon's caterwauling. I'm still shaking, over three hours later.
Stop laughing, you.
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