ecc3-1The clock on my nightstand claims it is 3:27 a.m. The last time I looked, it was 3:22. Before that it was 3:12. I really need to stop looking at the clock. I really need to get some more sleep before the alarm goes off. Or maybe I should give up and get up and do some writing. But I would pay a price for that somewhere around 2:00 in the afternoon, when the lack of sleep caught up with me, and I become a zombie. I never make a good impression on people when I’m in my zombie state. Also, I think my company frowns on people sleeping at their desks. The alarm goes off, and it’s 5:00. Time to get up. Something happened between 3:27 and 5:00, but I missed it; I was asleep.

I think dying must be something like that. One moment you are alive and well and doing whatever it is you’re doing. Then you wake up a hundred years in the future. Or a thousand years. Or a million years. To the sound of an alarm clock. Or maybe a trumpet. Or maybe a shout, Lazarus! Come forth!