Just Five More Minutes

My alarm is set for 6am.

Usually, I wake to the loud-then-getting-louder-still-louder
OH-MY-GOD-WHAT-IS-THAT-FUCKING-NOISE? tones of my iPod. I have my Sleeping Songs and my Time to Wake Up songs (I also, much to the delight of child and husband, have my Songs I Like songs - they laugh and wonder, "Aren't all the songs on your iPod songs you like?" If only. If ONLY.).

Anyway, lately, because one day I forgot to set my iPod in its dock and I'm to lazy to push a button, I've been waking to classical music. It's nice and calming, until it hits those REALLY LOUD DECIBELS, and generally a pretty good way to wake up (or wake up, go to the bathroom, decide you can sleep 5 more minutes and then wake up at 7am, late for everything).

Today, I decided to take 5 more minutes (and was late, yes, you'd think I'd learn) and as I was dozing, I was listening to the music and I kept thinking, "That's the Marseillaise. I know it is. Isn't it? But why? Would a Canadian station play the French national anthem? They aren't French. Except that whole Quebec thing. Is it the Marseillaise? It has to be." Because while I may not be up on all countries' national anthems, I have watched Casablanca enough to (half) recognize that song.

I faded in and out of sleep, wondering why (and if) it was the Marseillaise, wondering if I were in Ricks, wondering if I were Ingrid Bergman, wondering if the snoring man next to me was Humphrey Bogart, or even Paul Henreid.

None of these was true, of course. I woke up at 7, late. I wasn't Ingrid Bergman. He wasn't Bogart or Henreid. Or even Claude Rains (who, as Captain Renault, I find wildly attractive. Such a dirty, dirty man.).

Instead, I rushed getting things ready and now I'm sitting here, wondering if I can watch Casablanca or if I REALLY have to do all those things on my list.