Midnight mishaps.

At some point last night I had a dream that there was a bomb in my room.

And not one of those wussy little letter bombs, but a powerful, honest-to-god time bomb that would wipe my house off the face of the earth.

I didn't know where this bomb was, at first, but I could hear its endless ticking throughout the room. And so I searched, pushing aside books and checking under my bed. Desperate, I was.

And then I found it - sitting, conveniently enough, on my night table. It was a small, lumpy thing with a set of crimson digits on its face and a tangle of cords running out its back. Time was short.

Scrambling, I yanked the cords from its frame. The numbers instantly went dead. I cheered, but only a little - this thing could still be a threat.

Shambling out of my room after pounding my door aside I let my mind race furiously. "How do I dispose of this threat? What can put an end to this electronic menace?"

Water! Of course! My early morning brain had grasped on a perfectly logical solution. Electronics hate water. I rushed downstairs, nearly killing myself in the process, and as I ran the kitchen stretched and great crowds of people appeared in it, all cheering me own, urging me not towards the sink, but go, go! To the bathroom! Drown that sucker in the toilet!

Whipping around the corner of the kitchen I waved my goodbyes and slammed open the bathroom door. The toilet bowl stood before me, great and vast, and with a mighty heave I sent the bomb into the watery depths, where it landed not with a satisfying 'plop' but rather a loud bang. A length of cord slipped in in its wake, a long and winding tail, and it was gone.

The house... was safe.

I went back to bed. And then I woke up - just a bit - and, looking around my room through bleary eyes, realized that it HAD just been a dream. Thank god. I went back to sleep without looking at the time.

When I awoke this morning (FULLY awoke, that is), my mom came in my room.

"Get up and come downstairs a moment."

I rolled over. I knew I didn't have to go anywhere important.

"Come on, up. You'll want to see this."

Grudgingly I flopped out of bed, tossing back the covers and looking to my clock for the time.

And then I stopped. Sleepiness fled my brain and perplexity took its place.

The clock was gone. My glass of water was knocked over, and so, too, was my lamp, which lay sprawled on the floor. My whole night table, for that matter, was several inches away from the wall.

Uh oh.

I padded downstairs, through the kitchen, and past my mother, who was caught halfway between amusement and annoyance.

Into the bathroom.

There was my clock. It was on the floor in several pieces, clearly not in operable condition. Nor was the toilet seat much better off, as it bore a sizable gash in the top where I'd hurled down the clock with all my sleepy might.

A few things came into perspective in that moment of revelation.

Now I DO have something important to do today: buy a new clock.