It’s incredible how much I find myself bargaining for a few extra minutes of sleep every morning, when the concept of time seems absolutely worthless every night.
If my alarm clock had such a setting, I think I would easily throw on a three-minute snooze button, because of that negotiating committee that enters my head at around 7:15 A.M. You even start calculating if the crappiness of the song you wake up to can be sustained for the eighteen more seconds of sleep that you think will make the difference.
But at night, the idea of minutes being valuable is worthless. It’ll circle around one O’Clock in the morning and suddenly it seems like that’s the perfect idea to start reading the Wikipedia entry on World War One. As though surely I won’t regret that decision in the morning, which is now in ten minutes.