I would probably have missed Lexington and Concord, given the chance.

Mom, don't read this one. It'll just make you nervous.

Yesterday morning, my alarm went off at 7:30 AM. This was followed by my normal morning routine of springing effortlessly out of bed, skipping over to the alarm, hitting snooze, and collapsing back into an exhausted sleep for nine minutes until the alarm went off again, at which point the pattern repeated. This usually goes on for about an hour.

On this particular day I'd hit snooze one or two times and was already mostly asleep again when a sharp, explosive noise startled me partially awake. Part of my brain - about a quarter, maybe as much as a third, started trying to alert the body to wake up and pay attention to the sound since it sounded an awful lot like gunshots. The majority of my brain, realizing the danger in actually waking up fully any earlier than nine minutes after hitting the snooze, insisted that the body remain asleep until such time as all faculties would clearly be required, such as a trig test or nuclear bomb threat. Unable to gain even a plurality of interested senses, the alert portion of my brain conceded defeat and I drifted away to sleep again.

45 minutes later, I exited the building, hopped in my car, and drove out of the apartment complex, noting curiously on my way out that I was now passing several police cruisers with blue and reds flashing. Didn't I have some sort of dream involving - gunshots?

When I arrived back at my apartment after work today, a sign was taped to my door explaining that a shooting had occurred yesterday between a resident and an "acquaintance" (how exciting! He shot someone he barely knows! This apartment complex is full of people I barely know!), and that in the interest of safety, it would probably be best if I locked myself in my apartment and never came out.

So let's review - my semi-conscious mind heard gunshots from about 200 yards away and decided that the best possible option was neither fight nor flight, but to remain asleep.

I would, in fact, be the worst Minuteman ever.