Do you ever have one of those days when you feel the entire universe is conspiring against you? Well, I do. And Tuesday was one of them.

It started out like any other – with me hitting snooze far too many times and then shooting out of bed in a panic when I realized how late it was.

I had gone to bed with every intention of getting an early start. It’s Progress, after all. A time of year when all Evening Sun reporters start exhibiting signs of undue stress and fatigue from the pressure of our looming deadline. Sure that date is still more than a week away, but panic levels have already started to rise. The eyes are a dead giveaway. And, no, I don’t mean the twitch. I’m referring to that hollow, haunted look brought on by sleepless nights, caffeine overdose and copious quantities of self doubt.

So, yes, I went to bed early on Monday night, taking care to set not one, but two alarms. But, alas, it was all for naught. Because I forfeited the precious time I could have gained for the empty promise of a few more moments in the land of nod. That’s right, I fell prey to that evil tempter, the snooze button.