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Dear Carbon Monoxide Detector,

You are so wise.  How exactly did you know to start beeping repeatedly for “service” on a morning I had just fallen asleep around 7AM?  Did you see me uncharacteristically awake at 4AM, laying on the couch flipping through infomercials about miracle male enhancements and ways to demand money from the government that is rightfully yours?  Were you laughing at me as I searched, like an addict, throughout my house for one last, possibly lost, melatonin?

I’m actually kind of flattered.  You know me so well, you wouldn’t dare beep on any of the other 364 nights when I get a solid night’s sleep.  And it was sweet of you to make noise at a moment that made it seem like the beeping was in my dream.  How nice, who wouldn’t love sound effects in their dreams?

But, you were relentless, and I awoke from the dream.  I pulled a chair under my smoke detector, climbed up and tried to detach it.  Bleary eyed, I grabbed at it continually, unable to pull it down.  I was confused as to why this was so difficult to do– I am much taller than the normal person and therefore closer to the ceiling when standing on a chair, yet I could not get the smoke detector to budge.  Angry and confused, I turned to look at you, and you winked at me with a slightly orange light through the service slit. 

Aha!  You are the bully on the playground who points the finger at the innocent party.  What did the smoke detector ever do to you?  So I pulled at you, but you were just as impossible to detach as your scapegoat.  When did these things become wired to the ceiling?  I thought you ran on batteries (which I guess, thankfully you don’t because I haven’t “changed” them in the 2+ years I’ve lived here…)  My fingers were raw as I pulled and pulled at the wire, and you continued to beep directly into my ear.  So pleasurable; it was akin to sweet nothings, I tell you. 

I got you down, and carefully examined you as I held you in my hand.  You continued to beep.  Fuck, are there batteries after all?  At this point I’m beside myself and wondering why I need a goddamn engineering degree to figure you out.  But I see your reset button, cleverly hidden, and I furiously press it.  You finally shut the fuck up.  I climb back up on the chair and affix you back to the ceiling, all the time wondering if you were actually trying to tell me that there is carbon monoxide present.  I am ready to go back to sleep, but it is now 10AM and that 20 minute ordeal has awoken me past the point of slumber. 

Thank you, Carbon Monoxide Detector, for keeping me on my toes.  You have shown your true colors as a needy, attention seeking machine, and these are qualities I cannot stand in a human, let alone a little plastic box.  Me and the smoke detector have had enough of your antics.  But unfortunately, if I want to live, you must remain in my life.  So thank you for that early morning lesson on acceptance, I assure you it is not lost on me, despite my sleepiness. 


Your roommate who will probably get carbon monoxide poisoning

Things I Live For: Legal pads; my crazy doctor who says “cool beans” after practically every statement despite being 50ish

Quote of the Day: “The years rolled slowly past – I found myself alone – surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends.” –Bob Seger

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