Panic

I woke this morning not to my alarm, but apparently on my own. I can't sack out like I could back when the human growth hormone still flowed and my body made plenty of melatonin, but I hadn't gone to bed early enough I'd reasonably expect to wake before the alarm.

Plus, it was light out side. It's just barely getting light when I leave the house for work, and before the switch to Standard Time, it was just plain dark when I set off on the odyssey that is my daily commute.

I look at my alarm clock, and it says 1:34.

I freak out a little, rolling from the bed and running to the kitchen. I wonder, did my boss leave a message on my machine? How badly is my bacon burned at this point? I've been late plenty of times, the various routes I've tried to find to work all having their weak spots, occasions of construction, gridlock, injury accidents and whatnot. But I've never been six or seven hours late.

No messages on my answering machine, but then I see the clock on the stove says 7:33. It's flashing, but the stove apparently didn't lose power long enough (this is when I realize the power must have blinked off, judging by the alarm clock, at about 6:00 a.m.) to forget the time. The living room clock (which runs on batteries) agrees with the stove's assessment, so I'm late (or will be before I can get my ass out the driveway, let alone all the way to Waldo), but I'm not an MIA.