The first sensation I experience in the process of waking up is the sharp intrusion of the alarm noise into my unconscious mind. I use a cell phone alarm with a garish, 8-bit jingle as the alert, and it often casts a frightening presence into the center of my dreams, like suffering sudden home invasion by an entire circus. I sleep in a water bed, and in the middle of this sonic panic parade, I paw and paddle up to the phone to temporarily silence it. Then comes the Snoozing Period, during which I hold the phone in one hand against my forehead. I don’t know why I do this– headbutting has failed to solve most of my problems. I can’t actually retreat back to full sleep at this point, but I often try in the five minute intervals before the circus rounds the corner again. Two snoozes, and I row out of bed, past my significant other, who is still asleep. Her lifetime admission to my 8-bit high-volume alarm bonanza barely rocks her boat at this point. This cycle takes 15-20 minutes, and in recent months occurs at 10:15 A.M., though the same heroic extraction from sleep occurs in a similar way at 6 A.M. and 2 P.M.. Onto a shower, during which I try to bottle and name any migratory dreams. To pick up the razor is to fully wake up. I think it’s the permanent menace of a blade against my neck that makes me step across the last steamy line into alertness. For me, my shave is memento mori and grooming action rolled into one– on account of both mortality and society, I need to look sharp.
