Me n my Unconscious

      You know, one MAJOR difference which was left out of the ‘Town Mouse, Country Mouse’ tale is that the former wakes up to the shrilling noise of a bedside clock, while their counterparts in the country side become wide awake after one or two doses of a rooster’s heart-stopping cock-a-doodle-doo. But what difference is there really? Both of them eventually pull you out of sleep, after a world war tussle between you and your pillow; they both live up to the expectations of their nomenclature by instilling ‘alarm’ into your morning; and after your eyes are finally clear of the last traces of sleep, you feel like murdering the bearer of the news. Well, another difference is that Country Mouse would end up with a pot of delicious chicken soup, while his brother from the town would probably be left with the mangled remains of his still-ticking clock….not a befitting burial if you ask me. This is all good if you’re a four-legged rodent from the famous fable. But if you’re from Earth like I think I am, you’d know that the story has a whole new twist to it.
     Secondary school is the best six years of most people’s lives. That depends on if you were a normal day student, or the other kind. ‘The other kind’, as me and my friends used to joke back then, referred to us problem children, who needed to be institutionalized. I don’t think that the hostel mistresses understood that this was a joke, because the only way to describe the waking-up process in the dormitories for those six years is one word: Lunatic! The second day after I was unceremoniously bundled off to school (the vocabulary I used to employ in guilt tripping my mum), there I was enjoying my dream. I think I was swimming in a pool of Maltesers –I can’t remember now. So, there I was in my dream, when this banging, ringing sound started. It was like the combination of Bam-bam (from the Flinstones) and Tinkerbell invading my head at the same time. Now, my school was located in Ijesha, Osun state, so I cautiously pried one eye open to be sure that the natives had not taken us hostage. Imagine! There was Mrs. O banging on the wardrobe in front of her shouting “lights in, lights in!!” and the other Mrs. walking from bed to bed –ringing a BELL over the head of that occupant. Mind you, this was all going down at 5am in the morning! Honestly, I’m not sure that I wouldn’t have preferred being in a military coup.
     And over the last couple of years, I have suffered a whole range of symptoms, evident of this barbaric alarm system. These include, but are not limited to nightmares, hyper activeness, and I’ve been known to sleep talk sometimes. Just yesterday, I was sleeping and I apparently received a two-minute phone call, which I couldn’t remember having, until I visited my call log. I tried in my most humble, not-guilty voice to later find out what had transpired n that conversation. Luckily, he wasn’t too freaked out. Honestly, I’m not sure if this is a motion for the ban of alarms or a justified ode to my love of sleep, but it’s something. Where are the times when people woke up without any prompting? –when it was just there, ingrained in their system? It would be lovely to go back to that era, assuming that people like us don’t suffer from an eclipse and sleep till noon.  I’m just saying that there may be better ways to draw people out of unconsciousness that doesn’t involve alarming them into a heart attack.


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