A Surreal Sort of Reverie

Last night--rather, this morning--I seriously couldn't sleep, even more so than is normal for me. I mean, I was practically undead by 3 a.m., but nothing happened until it was past 5 a.m. This aside, I have been getting up after routine twelve-or more-hour rests, during which no one makes any attempt to wake me.

None of the clocks in my house, except for the computer ones (and, now that I think about it my alarm clock--but I can't see the indicator), tell the difference between a.m. and p.m. This may seem rather trivial at first, but on heavily overcast days in Chicago, where the sun doesn't consider setting until around 8.30 p.m., morning and evening (at least before the light truly begins to wane) look quite similar.

I'm not normally awake to see my father or sister home in the morning; I usually see everyone in the evening.

(cough) At any rate, I woke up from what I naturally assumed was a deep and fulfilling sleep. With glazed eyes and my rather degenerated myopia, I looked at the alarm clock and nearly screamed.

It read 7.34. That's all I saw--then I hurriedly threw on my glasses, dressed, basically got ready, and prepared for extreme embarrassment as I walked down the stairs. All this time my poor mind was reeling between a few ideas: mainly that I was the brunt of a massive practical joke (and that it was really only 3 p.m.--I was forced to discard this when I realized the paternal body was home, although he has made earlier appearances of late; but, sadly enough, the idea that no one was joking and it really was 7.34 p.m. continued)--actually, this idea continued as I ran around the kitchen looking at the microwave and oven clocks, then to the family room, where I noticed that both the analog and the VCR clocks had 7.34 upon them, and then I finally ran to the computer room because I was still having massive difficulties envisaging myself as having slept through even dinner without a single rumble of my stomach.

When I looked at the computer clock, I noticed something interesting about the part after the time (am and pm in small sizes and barely looked at can look surprisingly similar). Then I walked to the kitchen and announced that, surprisingly enough, I was not hungry. The maternal body barely reacted, though she looked a bit confused...I was thinking, What in Hell's name?<

This was about the point at which I realized that the mini-cretin hadn't left for school yet, that the paternal body, though dressed, was not fully ready, and my mother was in the kitchen making the sibling's lunch.

So I spent the rest of the day feeling like a total dipshit. Which, I suppose is justified. I mean, screw that whole 'you'll look back and laugh'--I am going to look back at this and, once again, feel like a dipshit.

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