Monday Morning Tantrum

I find getting out of bed on a Monday following a three-day weekend one of the hardest things to do. The only thing harder is doing it without throwing a tantrum.

This morning, like most mornings, the alarm went off. Unlike most mornings, I refused to move. The clock beeped incessantly, demanding I get up and shut it off, but I wasn’t going to give in and give it the satisfaction. The high-pitched beeping continued, but I remained stationary and defiant. If it weren’t a digital clock, the seconds would have ticked by. Instead, the minutes incremented. The clock wasn’t backing down and my stubbornness was starting to splinter. Finally, I surrendered.

Stillness erupted into violent pillow-tossing, sheet-kicking and mattress-pummeling. Bedding was soon strewn around the room. With nothing left to throw and nearing exhaustion, I tumbled off what remained of my bed, stomped to the clock and smacked it silent.

It was childlike behavior, I know, but since I can’t afford to hire a child for such situations, I had to do it myself.