Book at Bedtime

The sound of a key in the lock awoke her. The birds were in full song, yet it was a gunmetal grey morning that crept through the blind. She prised one eye open slightly and reached to the bedside table, fumbling for her mobile phone. The screen cast a bright blue light on the bed. She squinted until peering through her eyelashes, and read the time display. 06:05. An audible groan escaped her lips. The phone was dropped back onto the bedside table, and the duvet pulled up to her nose as she flung herself onto her side and contracted into a fetal position. There was nothing worse than waking up 30 minutes before your alarm. Really. What was the point? 30 minutes isn’t long enough to fall back into a proper sleep, but it’s too long to warrant getting up. She cursed work. She cursed her alarm. She cursed him for waking her up with his abnormally loud door unlocking abilities. She cursed her penchant for caffeinated drinks that meant she slept like a shark. She cursed that it was doubly hard to get 30 minutes sleep with all that cursing going on.