The Alarm Call

I was slipping out of the shop with the sweater I was stealing safely under my coat. I was just about to relax when the alarm rang. It was a harsh, ugly noise, designed to scare and discombobulate and it did the job beautifully.

'What the...?'

It took me a while to realise it was my morning wake up call and not a shop security system that was damaging my eardrums.

I opened a groggy eye and checked the time. 5.30 am? Who the hell had set my alarm for 5.30? Was someone having a laugh? Was Siri being mischievous? This new phone had more bugs than the CIA. I turned the alarm off, pulled the duvet close around me and snuggly drifted back to the land of nod and my shoplifting adventures. 

I looked at my phone, 9.30. I was in that delicious state of waking up naturally on a Sunday morning, knowing that nothing lay ahead of me. I was in a blissful state still groggy, but warm and well rested. Was there a better state to be in? Even the post sex glow couldn’t beat this. But there was a seed of doubt in the back of my mind; something that disturbed the luxury of a Sunday Morning lie in. Something there but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Was it my shoplifting dreams? Quite a disturbing recurring dream that didn’t reflect my normal life. What would a psychologist say about a 44-year-old, clean living teacher having dreams of a life of petty crime? Was it that weird alarm call at 5.30? I really needed to pop into the Apple Store and see if I could get some those bugs exterminated. Or was it the fact that my flight was due to take off in just 15 minutes?