Dear Snooze Button – A Love Letter to My Most Toxic Relationship

Dear Snooze Button,

I know I shouldn’t be writing this. I know I should be doing something more productive—like actually getting up when my alarm rings. But here I am, lying in bed, wrapped in the same old toxic routine that starts and ends with you.

We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we? Every morning, without fail, you’re there for me. Reliable. Familiar. A silent promise that I don’t really have to wake up just yet. That maybe—just maybe—five more minutes will fix everything wrong with my life.

But here’s the truth, Snooze: You are not five minutes. You are forty-five. You are missed buses and cold coffee. You are panic, regret, and deodorant applied in the Uber ride to work.

Let me take you back to how it all began…

I was young, ambitious, full of life. I believed in discipline. I believed in getting up with the first ring of the alarm. I even read those “Miracle Morning” books. I made smoothies. I meditated. I journaled.

Then, one day, you entered my life. At first, you seemed harmless. Just a helpful friend, offering me nine extra minutes of bliss. “Go ahead,” you whispered. “You deserve it. You work so hard.”

And that, dear button, was the beginning of the end.

It wasn’t long before one snooze became two, two became six, and six became a resignation letter I never meant to send. My morning routine devolved into a chaotic symphony of alarms, delays, and internal negotiations.

“If I skip breakfast, I can sleep nine more minutes.”
“If I skip a shower, that’s another snooze.”
“If I call in sick, I can just... keep sleeping.”

There was that one time I had a job interview at 8:30 AM. I set my alarm for 6:00 AM—gave myself plenty of time. But with you? With you in my life? I woke up at 9:12 to a voicemail: “Hi, just checking if you’re still planning to join us today?”

I wasn’t.

You see, Snooze, you’ve become more than just a button. You’re a lifestyle. You’re the first decision I make every day—and it’s always the wrong one. You’ve taught me all the wrong lessons. Like how lying to myself can feel like self-care. How procrastination can wear the mask of peace.

And yet, I can’t quit you.

I’ve tried. I’ve gone cold turkey. I deleted the default alarm app and downloaded a “no snooze” alarm with math problems to dismiss it. You found me anyway. I don’t even remember installing you again. You’re like malware for the soul.

There was even that time I set two alarms: one across the room and one under my pillow. I thought physical distance might help us grow apart. But no. I crawled—half asleep, eyes closed—across the floor like a zombie, hit you, and stumbled back into bed like a betrayed lover returning for more.

Sometimes I wonder if you want me to fail.

You never cheer me on. You never say, “You got this!” or “Rise and shine!” No. You say, “It’s okay. Sleep is more important.” You whisper lies in the voice of comfort, knowing full well I’ll pay for it later.

But let me be clear: I don’t hate you. In fact, I think I love you. And that’s the problem.

You are my enabler. My guilty pleasure. The reason I believe I can control time. You give me false hope that the real world will wait.

But it doesn’t.

The real world starts at 8 AM sharp, with or without me. The coffee gets cold, the traffic builds, and meetings are missed. Meanwhile, you and I lie in bed together, dreaming of second chances and non-existent grace periods.

I imagine a future without you. A future where I rise with the sun, stretch like a yoga influencer, drink lemon water, and tackle life head-on. I see myself becoming the person I always said I’d be.

But then morning comes, and I hear you again: soft, familiar, insidious.

“Just five more minutes.”

And like a fool in love, I believe you.

I know people judge us. I see the memes. The hustle culture. The 5 AM warriors. They call you weakness, laziness, failure.

But they don’t understand what we have.

We have warmth. Comfort. A toxic loop of dependency that feels like love. You’ve been there through bad weather, tough breakups, Sunday mornings, and hungover Mondays.

You never leave.

You never ask questions.

You never judge.

You’re just… always there, ready to make things worse.

And for that, I am hopelessly, chronically grateful.

So here’s to you, Snooze Button: my first mistake every morning, and my last act of defiance before facing the world.

I know this relationship isn’t healthy. I know I deserve better. But for now, just one last time… wake me up in five more minutes.

Yours in prolonged denial,
A Sleepy Soul