I was thrown from a peaceful sleep by a known and undesired alarm clock. To add insult to injury I am cursed being a light sleeper.
I am normally an early riser, but I attempt to ring every minute of sleep from the night. I find it difficult to recall the last time I had set my alarm clock for 6:00 AM on a Sunday morning.
As I slowly drifted from sleep to the land of wakefulness, I began to hear the alarm. It was a murder of crows.
Throughout the early morning hours I often hear the soft lullaby of several song birds as they greet the approaching morning. I wake briefly, smile as I hear their happy song and easily slip back into unconsciousness. The same is not true when my friends the crows begin their loud, obnoxious conversation. The conversation often reminds me of the first apartment which I rented after leaving home.
My apartment, located on the third floor allowed me to enjoy an unfettered view of the surrounding neighborhood. As I peered through my window I could see farther than my neighbors who resided closer to the ground. Shortly after I moved in I began to realize my elevated perch was perhaps not what I originally thought it was. Below me lived a couple who I had later come to find out had been married several years. Shortly after moving in I began to realize the wedded bliss which most couples hope to share had left them or perhaps
it had never been present.Frequently I was thrown from sleep as if someone had grabbed a hold of my body and suddenly rolled me to the floor. It was also no help knowing the walls appeared to be as thin as newsprint. The couple appeared to argue over some of the most inane topics and after tiring themselves would quiet. Peace would soon follow but not for me. I was now awake. When I am rattled from sleep, sleep is difficult to find once again. My wife has the luxury of rolling over, looking at her clock, declaring the time and within minutes she is once again fast asleep. On the other hand I spend the time cursing the time as panic begins to set in knowing sleep will more than likely not find me again until nightfall.
The same is true for my friends the crows. There are several who light in a tree outside my bedroom window. I have names for all of them and oddly enough they all share the same name, “Bastard.” Their voices like that of fingernails on a blackboard startle me awake. As I lie in bed listening to their shouting I try to fall back asleep. Sleep does not find me.