On Monday morning at exactly 7:00 AM, my alarm clock looked at me (emotionally), sighed (dramatically), and resigned.
Not literally—alarms don't have mouths—but instead of ringing, it displayed a message: "I quit. Wake yourself up."
I stared at it, half-asleep, half-offended.
"Excuse me?" I said, because arguing with objects is a normal adult behavior.
The alarm flashed again: "I've been waking you up for five years. You still hit snooze like it owes you money. I deserve better."
Before I could respond, my phone alarm joined the rebellion. It played motivational music and said, "Believe in yourself. Not him. He's hopeless."
Then my coffee machine turned on by itself and whispered, "I'll brew, but I'm judging you."
Even my mirror got involved. I looked at my reflection and it shook its head slowly. "Bold of you to plan success wearing that," it said.
Panicking, I tried to regain control. "I am the human here!" I yelled.
My laptop booted up and replied, "Sir, you couldn't even control your sleep schedule."
That's when my bed betrayed me. The mattress gently tilted and rolled me onto the floor like a disappointed parent.
I finally stood up, wide awake, defeated. "Fine," I said. "I'll be productive today."
Everything froze.
The alarm clock blinked once more: "Wow. So now you listen."
To this day, my alarm still rings.
But sometimes…
I swear it laughs.