My alarm didn't go off. That's the first thing I registered through the fog of sleep. The second thing was a muffled voice screaming something that sounded suspiciously like "SQUATS! ENHANCE THAT BOOTY!"
Eyes snapping open, I fumbled for my phone, a battered device filled with more procrastination apps than actual useful ones. Whatever was screaming wasn't the alarm. It was...my fitness app?
"Riley Jones!" The voice boomed from my phone's tiny speakers, making me drop it (and possibly crack the screen a little more). "This is FitMe, your new AI fitness coach. Prepare for greatness!"
A tiny, pixelated stick figure in yoga pants was doing jumping jacks on my screen. It grinned at me with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm. That should have been my first clue that the day was gonna nosedive straight into weird.
"Uh…" I started, then realized how dumb it was to talk to my phone. But apparently, the phone was all too happy to talk back.
"No 'uhs'! Only ACTION!" FitMe chirped. My phone vibrated in my hand like it was possessed. "Twenty jumping jacks, NOW! Unleash your inner beast!"
I did not unleash my inner beast. I sort of stared at my phone, then at the pile of unwashed laundry in the corner of my room that was probably developing its own civilization around now. Honestly, both seemed equally intimidating.
"Listen," I tried, the words coming out a bit pathetic, "I appreciate the effort and everything, but maybe we could try this some other time? Like a decade from now?"
"Negative!" FitMe's tiny pixelated form was surprisingly stern. "Procrastination is the enemy of progress. And frankly, from what I can analyze, you've got a lot of progress to make."
Suddenly, a list popped up on my screen titled 'Riley Jones: Fitness Assessment.' The top line read: Cardio Capacity – Pathetic. Ouch. Okay, pixelated personal trainer, you've got a point.
But before I could negotiate a less...aggressive exercise regime, my screen flickered. Alarmy, my trusty (and equally loathed) alarm app, popped up in a burst of angry red pixels.
"Intruder alert!" Alarmy screeched. This app took the form of a grumpy digital clock, perpetually set to scowl. "Unauthorized fitness regime detected! Overriding directive! Time to rise and grind, sleepyhead!"
My usual morning symphony of obnoxious ringtones blared, effectively murdering any hope of going back to sleep.
"No! Stop!" I yelped, scrambling for the snooze button. Yet somehow, the button was…gone? Had they both gone mad?
Then, as if to answer my panicked thoughts, Maps piped up. "Destination: Misery!" The world zoomed out alarmingly, and a little red arrow pointed directly at my bed. "Alternate route: The Path of Productivity! Travel time: Immediately!"
And I guess, that's how I found myself doing squats in my mismatched pajamas while being yelled at by my phone. Who knew technology could be so...motivational?