A week on the boat

The alarm was the sound-trac of my life going off 3 or 4 times a day never quite leaving me. It was 7 notes played on a xylophone then repeated, not the kind of jarring alarm that drags you out of dreamland, but a soft call that you follow not realizing you are waking, so that only sometime later you realize you are awake, though you are not certain of it because that call still plays in your mind. At times of concentration it resembles a child angrily banging away the notes somehow in rhythm, and other times a soft whisper like the wind intently blowing on the keys. This gave the impression of always waking from a dream whether it really was a dream or you were waking from life, and some many days become lost this way.