Hell hath no fury like a broken alarm clock

There is nothing quite like the panic that grips you when the red numbers of the clock pierce through your sleep coated eyes, proclaiming "You're late!"

Especially when frantic math informs you that it is two and a half hours late, to be exact.

It's an odd transition from blurry-eyed and blinking to frenzied, flailing limbs and mind racing in a period of approximately 5 seconds.

So, yes, my alarm clock decided to commit ritualistic suicide (I checked again this morning, and, yes, it just decided to ring its last ring. Or, more precisely, to play its last bad soft rock song.). Specifically, it decided to commit suicide the morning I had to be up at 6am for a 12 hour plus crazy day full of assessments at jail, scoring at one clinic, and therapy at another. This, coincidentally, was also after I'd had an extreme bout of insomnia, and thus had irresponsibly popped a few Gravols out of desperation once the clock hit AM again. As some of you may remember, I have a rather low tolerance for the effects of this particular drug, which would explain why I never even opened my sleepy eyes until two! and! a! half! hours! late!

The poor Duke was woken up to me screeching "holymotherofshitIamsofired!", and witnessed a miraculous bed to door speed of approximately five minutes (with a brief stopover to call any possible friend with a car, and to hyperventilate to my coworker).

But, readers? I am a superstar. For reals.

I managed to cut down my tardiness from two and a half hours to one hour by 1) leaving the house with greasy hair and no breakfast/coffee and 2) taking a cab from the clinic to the jail, rather than my usual hour bus ride.
Turns out no one at the jail cares if you are an hour late, anyways, because 1) it's not like you're interrupting the prisoners from an extremely busy schedule (as one put it, "Anything is more exciting than staring at a wall"), and 2) as another psychometrist later told me, people are almost always late because it is impossible to pick up the testing material and make it to the institution by 9am anyways.

By noon, by virtue of 1) no coffee or lunch break and 2) plain ol' hard work, I was right back on schedule. With no one but my one coworker the wiser.

I can't decide if I am the luckiest or unluckiest person on the planet.