It was late fall of my freshman year in college and the alarm had gone off. i had stayed up late working on a project, not really slept through the night, and the prospect of heading into the 8AM lecture wasn’t nearly as enticing as it might have been. To make matters worse, it was a beautiful, mild autumn day and i had slept with the window open.
i didn’t break the alarm clock, although i certainly did try. None the less i lay there debating my future. Should i get out of bed, get dressed and go sit in a two hour lab about something that i was forced to take to fulfill my curriculum, or should i skip that class and catch a few more precious moments of sleep? Hell, who was i kidding? i couldn’t even answer that coherently. So i put it up to the universe. “Give me a sign, some indication that i should get out of bed.”
At that very moment the last train to use the tracks located not 200 yards from my dorm room rolled by, blaring it’s horn and loaded with a brass band, providing a suitable retirement for the landmark event. The sound of the horn was nearly deafening, only to be followed by a solid two minutes of a Sousa march and solemn cheers. Dust fell from the ceiling and i’m fairly certain that my bed may have moved a few inches from the reverberations. i’m pretty sure St. Michael was taking notes for his solo come Armageddon.
“Nope. Not good enough”, i proclaimed and pulled the cover back over my head.