“I’m almost done down here! All I have left is the stove in the kitchen!”
I can hear Samantha yelling to me from the bottom of the steps while I’m in our bedroom.
I decided, as a way to prevent any more oversleeping mishaps, that Sam and I are going to adjust the time on anything that has a clock on it in the house. Whether it’s something we see all the time, or something we just have in the house to have, if it has a clock, we’re setting it. That includes the stove in the kitchen and the small analog clock in the kitchen, the microwave, the built-in clock feature in the living room television, and everything else I don’t feel like listing.
Sam is taking care of things on the first floor, while I’m doing everything here upstairs. I stick my head out of the bedroom door and yell back at her.
“Okay! I’m almost done in our room. I just have the bathroom left! I’ll come downstairs when I’m done!”
I hear a few footsteps downstairs, so I’m assuming she went back to finish whatever clocks she has left. As for me, I only have the alarm clock in our bedroom before I tackle the clock in the bathroom. I move back from the door and head to the nightstand on my side of the bed and start fiddling with the alarm clock. It’s an older digital alarm, so it feels a bit bulky in my hands.
It only takes me a few minutes to get the time right after having to press the buttons dozens of times, and that’s not including the number of times I accidentally passed the correct time and had to go all the way back around to get the right minutes.
I let out a sigh as I put the alarm clock back down, “Damn, I forgot how annoying it is setting one of these things. I need to get a more modern one.”
I take a moment to look around our room and I’m not surprised at the upkeep; it’s pretty obvious to tell who’s the messy one between me and Sam. Our bed sheets are thrown all over on one side, while the other is neatly tucked and folded while it’s not in use. The floor has all types of clothes scattered all over, mostly sleeping pajamas and brightly colored underwear. There’s even one with a small pink heart on the back of it.
I shake my head at the sloppiness, but I don’t let it get to me; I start cleaning up around the room to make it look a bit better.
“Alex, I need help!”
Looks like it didn’t last long. I drop the underwear in my hand and head to the door again.
“What is it, Sam?” I ask.
“Can you come downstairs? I’m trying to figure something out about how to set the time on one of the clocks.”