A Mildly Concerning Account of the Day My Alarm Clock Decided It Was a Life Coach
At 6:00am sharp, my alarm clock didn’t beep. It spoke.
Not in a robotic tone—no. It used the voice of someone who has read too many motivational posters.
“Rise and thrive,” it said.
“Hydrate and dominate.”
“Success begins with socks.”
I unplugged it. It kept talking.
I walked away.
Straight into the kitchen… where the blender was already spinning, with nothing inside it, the way a haunted smoothie might rehearse for a talent show. I decided not to engage.
I opened my laptop, seeking sanity.
Sanity was unavailable.
Because there they were. The Five Tabs of Eternal Browser Hostage-Taking:
roof cleaning isle of wight
patio cleaning isle of wight
driveway cleaning isle of wight
exterior cleaning isle of wight
pressure washing isle of wight
They weren’t just sitting there. They were highlighted, like my computer was gently insisting:
“Hey. Hey. You know what you really need? A freshly blasted driveway.”
I tried to close them.
They came back.
I tried Task Manager.
It froze.
I tried turning off the Wi-Fi.
Somehow, the tabs reloaded faster.
Meanwhile, the alarm clock (still unplugged) shouted,
“You can’t run from your purpose!”
I began to suspect my purpose involved jet-washing concrete.
Before I could process, my neighbour arrived—wearing oven mitts, carrying a clipboard, and whispering,
“Do not let the garden hose know you’re awake.”
I nodded, because at this point I was just a tourist in whatever dimension this was.
The toaster beeped even though it was empty. The fridge door opened half an inch like it wanted to gossip. The houseplant rotated toward the laptop like it was reading the tabs too.
Out of spite, I clicked patio cleaning isle of wight again.
The page loaded normally.
Too normally.
Like it was pretending it wasn’t part of some multi-dimensional pressure-washing cult recruitment strategy.
I closed the laptop.
It reopened itself.
With SIX cleaning tabs this time.
The alarm clock yelled, “PROGRESS IS A CHOICE.”
I considered throwing it out the window, but I feared it would shout on the way down.
At 7:14am, I accepted three unchangeable truths:
- My home is 100% haunted, but only by objects with strong opinions.
- The internet is now legally my landlord.
- I am being spiritually hunted by the concept of pressure washing isle of wight.
I made coffee.
The mug vibrated with disapproval.
I drank it anyway.
The tabs are still open.
The alarm clock is still coaching me.
And the blender has started spinning again.
If you don’t hear from me, assume I’ve been recruited into a very organised, very shiny outdoor-cleaning destiny.
Send help.
Or bleach.
