This morning, when my alarm went off, I rolled over and hit the snooze button. The radio, however, kept chattering on. This is not an uncommon thing, as the snooze button has to be hit "just so", so I flung my arm back over the end table and mashed the button again.

The insipid morning DJs blathered on.

Irritated, I carefully felt my way along the edge of the radio to the button, ensuring that my index finger was in the precise spot necessary to activate the snooze feature. Pushing my finger down, I felt the familiar click as the button engaged, but to no avail; the infernal machine wouldn’t shut up. With the groggy realization that every second of aural intrusion brought me closer to the accursed state of wakefulness, I jackhammered the button with my finger, like a spastic one-fingered typist.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick. Great, my snooze button is broken, I thought.

And then I woke up to find the radio still yammering in my ears, but with both arms snugly cocooned under the cozy comforter. I hadn’t pushed the snooze button at all. My brain made the whole thing up. I was even more irritated than before; of all the adventures my subconscious could have sent me on, all the bizarre dreamscapes I could have visited, and my brain fed me a dream about being in bed?

Lame.