Rise and Shine

I am, by no means, a morning person. When I lived by myself, I would set my alarm for an entire hour before I need to get up, so that I can hit the snooze for an hour, slowly moving from Dreamland to the harsh bright lights of reality. Because this is the way I tend to wake up, I am not very good in the morning. Some people claim they are not good until they get their coffee; I am not good until the sun has crested the sky. I could get up at 6:00 am, but I would still be groggy and slow moving until around noon. For some reason, my mind is slow moving until around that time.
During this time, though, it should be noted that I am very amicable. In an effort to get back to sleep, I will agree to almost anything. Anything to get back to sleep.

This morning, however, such a luxury was not afforded to me. At 9:00 am, a decent time in the morning for most, I had already woken, moved around and fallen back to sleep twice by this point. I wasn't quite asleep, but a far cry from complete consciousness. Then, suddenly and without warning, the red bell above my door started ringing, loudly. I shot up at the noise, and before I could locate it, the sound stopped.

What the hell was that, I thought. I can sleep through anything, so for a noise to wake me up it needs to be loud and jarring. The phone ringing, a neighbors alarm, the doorbell: none of these things are loud enough, so instantly I assumed catastrophe. The house must be on fire. From waking to settling on my imminent death by fire took about ten minutes. It's probably best I am not a fireman.

I stumbled over to the window, and shifted the curtain slightly. The outside was gray as usual, but certainly no commotion. I stood, looking outside in a daze for a minute of two. Your house is on fire, my rational mind kept screaming, but my sleep addled mind was looking for a good reason to put shoes on. I don't see any fire trucks or other people outside, so it must not be so bad.

I stood for a minute in the center of the room, and, like a shock, doubt crept in. Did I hear a noise? Was that a dream? Is this a dream? I stood stock still in the middle of the room trying to piece together how I had gotten from the bed to here. What do I know that is true: I heard a noise. Or rather, I think I heard a noise. What noise was it? Loud. Maybe. Or was that a dream?

Because I am alone in my room there was no one to bounce these questions off. At this moment, I became aware of the noises of my house mates moving around the house. Slowly, a conundrum arose: Do I ask my housemates if there was a noise? If they say yes, we can all joke about what a weird occurrence that was. If they say no, I will look insane which could be bad for all of America.
"Do you remember that American that lived upstairs?"
"Oh yeah, the crazy one who heard alarm bells in the morning."
"Yeah, well there is a new one upstairs."
"Damn it. Do you think he hears phantom noises, too?"

I decided, after some debate, to die in my room. If I did nothing, I could live forever, and no one would have to either confirm nor deny the noise that shook me awake. I might also die. But at least no one would think I am crazy. So, it was about 10:00 now, and I laid back in my bed, reading Superheroes: A Modern Mythology and waited for the flames to engulf my room.