The Alarm Clock Betrayal
🌼 Date: Sunday, August 23, 2026
⚡ Energy: Technologically challenged and mildly offended
💖 Status: Alarm set, dignity questionable
🥲 Outlook: Callback starts tomorrow whether my phone cooperates or not
Today I was technologically challenged.
And by technologically challenged, I mean I had to figure out how to set my alarm.
My alarm.
On my phone.
The thing I have owned for years.
The thing that is supposed to be simple.
The thing that literally exists to make noise at a specific time.
And yet there I was, staring at it like it was written in ancient hieroglyphics.
Tomorrow is the first day of Callback.
Which means I need to get up at an actual work-person time.
Not cancer recovery time.
Not appointment time.
Not “my body finally fell asleep at 3:00 a.m., so let’s see what happens” time.
Real time.
Responsible adult time.
Transportation employee time.
So naturally, I went to set my alarm.
Simple, right?
Wrong.
Apparently I have a whole collection of alarms already living in my phone.
A museum of past responsibilities.
Random times.
Old work schedules.
Appointment wake-ups.
Travel mornings.
Possibly alarms from a version of Tina who no longer exists.
But of course, none of them were set for the exact time I need to wake up tomorrow.
Because why would they be?
That would be helpful.
So I had to figure out how to either edit an old alarm or create a new one.
And let me tell you, nothing makes you feel old and inept quite like being personally victimized by the clock app.
I train people how to operate forty-foot school buses.
I can build a blog.
I can publish posts.
I can research cancer myths.
I can manage appointment schedules, medication names, boob cc’s, compression sleeves, protein goals, eye drops, and hormone shots.
But today?
Today I was humbled by an alarm.
I am not sure if I can blame this one on chemo brain or not.
I would like to.
Chemo brain has been a very convenient scapegoat.
Forgot why I walked into a room?
Chemo brain.
Lost my train of thought mid-sentence?
Chemo brain.
Put something weird in the fridge?
Probably chemo brain.
Stared at my alarm settings like I had never seen a phone before?
Could be chemo brain.
Could also just be old age.
Double nickels has entered the chat.
And apparently she needs technical support.
The timing of this little alarm crisis felt appropriate, though.
Because tomorrow is not just about getting up early.
Tomorrow is Callback.
Tomorrow is walking back into work after almost a year away.
Tomorrow is sitting in classes with people who remember the old Tina.
Tomorrow is trying to function in a body that is still very much under reconstruction.
Tomorrow is Tina 2.0 entering the building with outfit armor, packed food, hydration, boundaries, and hopefully enough energy to make it through the day without becoming feral.
So yes, the alarm mattered.
Because it was not just an alarm.
It was the starting signal.
The tiny little beep that says:
“Okay. Here we go.”
Back to work.
Back to people.
Back to schedules.
Back to rooms.
Back to expectations.
Back to the bus yard.
Back to a place I used to belong in one role, while trying to return in a very different one.
No pressure, tiny alarm clock.
Just the emotional weight of an entire life chapter transition.
Totally normal.
I did eventually get it figured out.
At least I think I did.
I have an alarm set.
Probably.
Hopefully.
There may be more than one, because at this point I do not trust myself or my phone.
If I accidentally set six alarms, so be it.
Better startled than late.
And honestly, this whole thing feels very on brand for this season of life.
Everything is familiar, but different.
I know the building.
I know the people.
I know the work.
I know the buses.
I know the routine.
But I am different now.
My brain is different.
My body is different.
My energy is different.
My priorities are different.
Even setting an alarm feels like a tiny reminder that I am trying to step back into a world that kept moving while I was fighting to stay alive.
So today, I packed what I could.
Planned what I could.
Set the alarm.
Double-checked it.
Questioned my competence.
Blamed chemo brain.
Blamed old age.
Then probably checked it again.
Because that is who I am now.
A woman with scars, a compression sleeve, medical chest rocks, a bullshit filter, and at least one alarm set for Callback.
Tomorrow morning, the alarm will go off.
Hopefully.
And Tiny Tina will get up.
Probably with some profanity.
Possibly with coffee.
Definitely with outfit armor.
And she will walk into Callback as Tina 2.0.
Technologically challenged, maybe.
But still showing up.
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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time
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