tick. tock. SMASH.

Hickory, Dickory Dock

The mouse ran up the clock

The clock struck one

The mouse ran down

Scurrying away from the raging Karli coming to smash the clock with a hammer.

Don't judge me. yet. I love clocks. Love them. So much, in fact, that I have this fantasy of having a "clock wall" in my house some day. One wall entirely devoted to beautiful, unique TICK-LESS clocks.


You see, dear reader, I have what I like to call the "Captain Hook" syndrome. Ticking clocks drive me nuts. They tick. and tick. and tick. digging into every fiber of my being to the point where if I can hear a ticking clock, my foot unconsciously keeps time with it. And then I go crazy.

Most of the time, it's honestly not that bad. If I can keep myself busy, I can usually push the incessant ticking to the back of my mind.

BUT if I am trying to sleep, it's hopeless.

Back home, I'd lay in bed for hours hating the ticking clock in the boys' bathroom down the hallway. It's one of the reasons why my fan is ALWAYS on, to drown out the ticking and thus, calm the threatening insanity.

And then I came to college. And there, on the bookshelf in all its tick-tock-yness sat my roommate's clock. I loathed it from the moment I saw it. Not wanting to be rude, though, I chose to deal with it. Most nights, if I leave the door open, the sound of the perpetually running toilet blocks the ticking. Yes, toilet-sound helps me sleep. weird. And on a few occasions, I have had the gall to remove the batteries to the perplexity of my roommate when she noticed a few days later. However, two nights ago, I'd fallen asleep while my roommate was still awake. Lights on and everything. I must have been exhausted. Plus, it was only 11:15. I was planning on full 8 hours with some time to do some extra stuff before work in the morning. 

Mr. Clock had other plans.

When my roommate noticed I was asleep, she walked out turning out the lights and SHUTTING THE DOOR. 

tick. tock. tick. tock. tick. TOCK.

I instantly awoke, ready to explode, I tell you! I glared at the glow-in-the-dark hands beating away each second of my life. Once my roommate was in bed, I sneakily got up and opened the door. 10 minutes later, my roommate sneakily got up and shut the blasted thing again.

It's now well after 1:00 AM. And I am NOT a happy camper.

And then I had an idea. I pulled out my ipod and turned on the same piano music I used to fall asleep to every night as a kid. Problem. In order to not hear any ticking, I had to turn the music up so loud that it pretty much defeated the purpose of lulling me to sleep. Plus, as I laid (lied? lay? lie?) there, I realized my foot was still beating out time from the clock, not the music. Fail.


Exhausted and absolutely miserable, I dragged my blankie and little pillow into the kitchen (not-so-softly shutting the bedroom door) and crashed on the couch for a few hours respite from that devil clock.


The next morning, a frustrated and grumpy Karli was seriously considering smashing the thing to a pulp. I swear, the devil himself invented the second-hand. Instead, my less violent, decorate-y side remembered those wonderful inventions call Command Strips (I raved about them in my first ever post). I dug through my desk drawer, thrilled to find some at the very bottom, and stuck that blasted clock to the kitchen wall WHERE IT WILL STAY FOR THE REST OF THE SEMESTER NEVER TO DISTURB MY SLEEP AGAIN SO HELP ME JIMMER!


Ha! I win. :)