Night Shift

I’ve been working the night shift… the graveyard shift.

Whatever you want to call it.

Personally, I think the term ‘graveyard’ shift is a little harsh.

What’s that all about?

I suppose, back in the day, the only jobs one did at night were gravediggers. It’s a leftover… like, ‘Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater’. Back in the day, fools actually threw the baby out with the bathwater. Look it up.

You get a little reversed working all night, that’s my point.

You eat dinner for breakfast, and breakfast for dinner. You go to sleep watching The Golden Girls like it’s 1988. You forget if it’s Monday or Tuesday.

It’s disconcerting at first, but I’m starting to get used to it…

It’s like…

I’m always dead tired driving home, battling the freshly-rested, highly-caffeinated commuters — who all wish they could go back to bed, and that’s where I’m headed. The bed at the end of the night. 8, 10 o’clock in the morning. That’s the one bright side!

That and fresh breakfast.

I’ve developed a serious addiction to donuts. Especially twists. I eat something hot and fresh every morning and hit the road home where I blacken out the windows and curl up in my bed and watch morning television. 

MSNBC helps put me to sleep. Blanche Devereaux. The sitcom Still Standing. The Weather Channel.

So this why I haven’t been able to write as much lately. I’ve been a bat in a cave for the last three weeks. There’s nothing a bat can tell you about the world except about the cave and who wants to hear about a cave.

It’s obviously time for me to go to sleep.

While you work, I dream… as you sleep I work… and vice versa.

Turned upside-down at night. Like a gravedigger.


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