Here's a story based on a weird dream I had

You were so slick and speedy when you shut off your alarm and rolled back over asleep that you don’t even remember doing it. You open your eyes again around the time you had planned to leave the house. You must have thought you were so clever, setting that alarm so early. If you had gotten up then you wouldn’t have had to rush, but no. Now you have about half an hour to get dressed, grab your important business bag, and scramble onto your motorbike so you can rocket away to that annoying job of yours that shouldn’t require such an early start as the one you missed.


Naturally when you see the clock strike 7:46 you fly out of bed like your blankets are on fire. You speedily remove your bed clothes at a similar rate as you must assume they are on fire too. The sun through your bedroom window is bright and an awful lot higher than it would have been at the time you were supposed to get up. Your work clothes are on and you make a mental list of things you can get away with not doing in order to hurry up. Missing breakfast appears to be your punishment for laziness today.

It’s now 7:53 and you have no idea where your important business bag is. You are running around the house searching for it while brushing your teeth brutally like they owe you something. You can’t leave home without this bag. This bag is essential to your annoying job and if you can’t find it – the time is suddenly 7:55. You cry in frustration “Why doesn’t time go backwards when I want it to?” spraying foamy toothpaste on the walls and carpet.

When you rush to the bathroom to rinse the foamy mess from your face you see your bag sitting in the corner. Why your bag is in the bathroom is a mystery that is perhaps best left unsolved considering that you have to grab your helmet and be on your bike already. Your job requires you to be there by 8:15 and at least ten minutes have passed since you last glanced at the time. You put your helmet on before remembering that foot wear is a requirement. You end up tying your laces while peering through the visor of a motorcycle helmet. You look ridiculous but you are on your bike and on your way. Another ten minutes gone.
All hope of arriving on time is lost but the faster you get there the less chance of your boss hating you, so you speed your annoyingly noisy motorbike down the road along the rout that has always been the fastest for you. On every other day there hasn’t been a tipped over truck lazing about the whole road like it owns the place and now you are stuck in traffic that is very slowly trying to follow detours. Tough break.
After twenty minutes of driving you are finally on the road that leads to the car park of your work place. You park in the only space available, which is ages away from the front door, and notice that the sky is much gloomier than it was when you got out of bed. You run toward the door as fast as your feet will carry you. You are almost there when your watch starts to beep insistently.

That annoying alarm! Why is it going off again now? You slow your run and look at the watch. The time on it is the time your alarm was set for this morning. Your watch must be broken because it should at least be close to 9 o’clock by now. You come up to the double glass doors of your work place and see the large grandfather clock in the lobby. Its hands are displaying the same time as your beeping watch.

What is going on? The clock is wrong and the hands are ticking backward. You turn around and look at the dimming sky, seeing the sun sitting a little above the horizon. The town clock tower stands proudly beside it, hands ticking backwards and claiming that you have come to work far too early.

And your alarm is still beeping. You open your eyes –for real this time. You are still in your bed and the sky is the same shade it had been at the end of your dream. You roll over and pick your watch up off your bedside table, shutting off the alarm. “What a weird dream” you mutter as you roll back over and go back to sleep. Apparently the dream didn’t teach you a thing, but there is no judgement here. After all, everyone is guilty of it.

RachOddSocks