The alarm wasn’t supposed to go off yet but go off it did. Laying there, my head still on the pillow, hair spread out like a college student’s Koosh ball and my hand across my eyes, the irritating screech of the alarm’s rhythm pounded my brain. Taking a deep breath, I hit “Stop,” ran my hands along the top of my head, a yawn escaping my lungs. 

   I lay there in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling anything but motivated. The work week was ending and for all intents and purposes it was looking to be just your typical run-of-the mill day. Throw clothes on, brush teeth, throw hair up into a barrette, grab coffee, slip shoes on, make my way out the door to the haven of my little Ford Escape, lovingly and tongue-in-cheekingly referred to as “the silver streak.” From here the day would go as follows: turn on classroom lights, set out breakfast yummies, sort through emails, comb through the internet for worksheets, coloring pages, and anything else that might be relevant to the topic of the day, sign out van, grab keys to said van and, when the time approaches, gather my small group of charges and head out into the community for two hours worth of dance. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing that would put a pep in anyone’s step. Most of my days are like this; I just have to say it. If you were to open up my day planner and let your fingers do the walking you’d soon see that the only thing different is the date on the page. There really is no polite way of saying that my current life is Yawn City; population one. 

    I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, wishing with everything that was in me that today was not a work day and I could just pull the blankets back over me and I could escape into sleep if only for another hour or so. For whatever reason I could not make myself get going; the muscles in my legs were stiff and sore, having locked up the night before, sending pain as shards of broken glass shooting through my body. My arms felt twice their normal size and every movement took effort on my part. Carefully, gingerly, my hands massaged circles into my upper arms, making their way to my forearms, going down into my legs and feet. This wasn’t anything new either. I’ve dealt with issues of pain for the past five years, each day passing finding the pain growing more and more intense and insufferable. Most of the time it’s hard for me to describe with words what I feel each and every minute of the day but I guess one of the best ways I can explain it is to try and imagine yourself being wrapped head to toe in the barbed wire of an electric fence and some unseen force out of nowhere flips the switch. The only other way I can explain it is to picture C-clamps placed strategically on your body and yet another invisible force is tightening the screws as it were. Yeah…nothing new. Nothing I haven’t grown accustomed to. None of it helps in boosting my morale or my ambition. 

    All the while I lay massaging my feet and legs my mind was puzzling over why the alarm went off when it did. Regardless of how motivated or plucky I may or may not be in the mornings I am very particular when it comes to my alarm or in some cases alarms. I am scheduled to be at work at 8:00 which leaves X amount of time to get myself awake, situated, and ready to head out the door. This much time allotted to dress, another amount of time for hair, makeup, and teeth, yet another amount of time to pour my coffee, gather my things, and make my way to the car. I don’t want to take too much time yet by the same token I despise feeling rushed, like there isn’t even enough time for me to take a breath in between. Hence the purpose beyond why I am so picky about my alarms. 

     Well, I thought, laying here isn’t going to save me any time. Squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my teeth I pushed myself into an upright position, swinging my feet slowly to the side of the bed. I sat on the bed’s edge, feeling another yawn trying to find its way to the surface, my hand lightly brushing sections of hair away from my face. I could feel my body’s screams of protest as I slowly and methodically inched my feet to the floor as aches and pains coursed through every muscle, every joint, my breath in short, raggedy bursts, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. 

         With determination I pushed myself to my feet, a feeling of unsteadiness washing over me and I put my arms out to my side to catch my balance. I lumbered my way to my closet, one Frankensteinlike step in front of the other, turning the knob and opening the door. Fumbling through the clothes strewn about on the hangers, I selected a pullover and cardigan combination along with sleek, black leggings and casual black slip on shoes, placing each item on top of my bedspread. Through grit and strain I dressed and ran a brush through the length of my hair, pulling the sides back and fastening them with a barrette. Exhaling deeply, I placed the hairbrush back in its place on the shelf and picked up a mid-size floral bag containing my makeup. Easing myself as gently as I could back onto the edge of my bed, I unzippered the top of the makeup case, taking out each cosmetic, each utensil, along with my compact mirror. One eye done. Two eyes done. Not exactly cover of Vogue material, I suppose, but it was as good as it was going to get on this particular day. 

      Through all of this, I still couldn’t figure out why the alarm had gone off when it did.

      Quietly, so as not to wake everyone else in the house, I tiptoed into the kitchen where I was met with the aroma of freshly brewed vanilla hazelnut coffee. I reached for my tumbler, removed the lid, and poured the steamy liquid into my cup.  Placing the lid on top, I  took a sip, eyes closed, every one of my senses engaging with the soothing fragrance and the warmth on my lips, savoring the taste and smell of that first morning dose of comfort.

        Just as I was bringing the cup to my lips for a second sip a familiar sound rang out. Loudly. Shrilly. Agitatingly. I searched the kitchen for its exact location, stopping when I reached my hand into the side pocket of my leggings, discovering the source.

          It was the alarm on my phone. 

         Or so I thought.

        It was actually a text message from my boss. A group text to be more precise. 

       I brought my phone up closer to my eyes to read and as I did I sank into a nearby kitchen chair. 

        The message read:


    “School is closed due to inclement weather. Happy snow day!”


     I let out a groan and placed my head in my hands. What I thought was my alarm was well…a group text…a lousy, freaking group text…announcing a snow day!!!!

     Wait a minute…

     A group text…

     A snow day…

     I have a day off!!!!!!

   Coffee cup in hand, I made my way to the sofa, still slightly dark with a sliver of light trying to show itself through the front room window. 

  I felt myself sinking into the softness of the cushions, wrapping my weighted blanket as tight around me as I could possibly get it and placing my cup on the floor beside me. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and took a long, slow, deep breath. 

        No, the alarm wasn’t supposed to go off when it did but go off it did. Perhaps this particular alarm was sent as a reminder for me to pump the brakes on life, to slow down for a bit, and just learn to bask in the quiet, the stillness of the world around me if only for just a day.