am growing certain that on a deep, dark, cavernously subconscious level, I am sabotaging my own efforts to get to work on time. My first alarm goes off at five thirty am in the morning, and is set to repeat itself every three minutes. The genius behind this was that even if I hit the snooze button a couple of times, the alarm’s persistence will eventually wear me down, or up, and my sleep will be depleted at a point that leaves me sufficient time to get up, out, and off in time.
However, it still happens that almost every day I don’t get out of bed until eight thirty.
That means I hit the snooze button every three minutes for three hours. In the time it takes you to watch two pirated movies, say Hancock as well as Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen. You could start Hancock when Will Smith is drunk on the bench at the bus stop when I am just hearing the alarm go off. Will shall complete the entire story arc of conflict, redemption, narrative twist, big reveal, and final resolution and I will still be exactly where I started.
Then you could put in Transformers, and after that spectacular and thrilling drivel is through punching your brain into blissful submission, I would still be there. Hitting snooze. Saying “Just a few more minutes.”
This makes no sense. No one should snooze for that long. But I do, and I eventually get to work at ten, even though I swear to myself every single day that tomorrow I will be there at eight.
I got in this morning, late again, but still, as always, eager to kick ass and be the finest Baz the media has ever seen. But hardly had two minutes gone by than it happened. And I remembered, I am not averse to my job, but I do not like being in this office.

I am growing certain that on a deep, dark, cavernously subconscious level, I am sabotaging my own efforts to get to work on time. My first alarm goes off at five thirty am in the morning, and is set to repeat itself every three minutes. The genius behind this was that even if I hit the snooze button a couple of times, the alarm’s persistence will eventually wear me down, or up, and my sleep will be depleted at a point that leaves me sufficient time to get up, out, and off in time.

However, it still happens that almost every day I don’t get out of bed until eight thirty.

That means I hit the snooze button every three minutes for three hours. In the time it takes you to watch two pirated movies, say Hancock as well as Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen. You could start Hancock when Will Smith is drunk on the bench at the bus stop when I am just hearing the alarm go off. Will shall complete the entire story arc of conflict, redemption, narrative twist, big reveal, and final resolution and I will still be exactly where I started.

Then you could put in Transformers, and after that spectacular and thrilling drivel is through punching your brain into blissful submission, I would still be there. Hitting snooze. Saying “Just a few more minutes.”

This makes no sense. No one should snooze for that long. But I do, and I eventually get to work at ten, even though I swear to myself every single day that tomorrow I will be there at eight.

I got in this morning, late again, but still, as always, eager to kick ass and be the finest Baz the media has ever seen. But hardly had two minutes gone by than it happened. And I remembered, I am not averse to my job, but I do not like being in this office.

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