so long, DreamMachine

When I was preparing to go to college, my mother and I would discuss the many things I needed: extra-long twin sheets, desk lamp, hangers, “and of course, we’ll get you a DreamMachine,” Mom said, referring to the white cube-shaped clock radio made by Sony, which my mother had deemed good enough in both form and function for her daughters. There was already one in LBC’s room at home, and another in the process of making the move into her first post-college apartment.
I hadn’t given my DreamMachine much thought in the past nine years, until a few weeks ago, when after a particularly hot spell during which my apt turned into a kiln, the digital display on the DreamMachine appeared to be on the fritz. The left and bottom parts of the second number from the left disappeared, so that “9,” “8,” and “7” were pretty much indistinguishable, and therefore unacceptable for someone who wakes and rolls over and goes back to sleep during those crucial hours in the morning. Observe:


“6:56”

So, I’ve replaced the DreamMachine with a Timex (they “take a lickin’ and keep on tickin'”), but in this ode of appreciation, I salute the DM for the hundreds of classes, exams, job interviews, and days at work to which I arrived on time, thanks to its reliable service.

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