Mike: I like your hair that way. It looks like you just rolled out of bed.
Me: …
The hardest part of working nights is knowing what time to do things so that your brain remembers how to live. When you work days, there is a certain rhythm. Working nights is recreating that rhythm when you have to figure it out on your own. I do things like forget to take medication or forget to shower because I haven’t ordered my day the right way. I am sure that showering is a priority, but did I take a shower “this morning,” or perhaps “last night?” When I wake up, it’s not even “tomorrow” yet.
I am fairly certain that I don’t have much longer on this shift, which makes me excited and reticent all at the same time.
Nights have their own pace, their own topics of conversation, and the pleasure of knowing that we’re not like everyone else. For starters, everyone just expects you to be tired. What they don’t know is that we’re not tired. We’re beyond tired. We drink more caffeine than you can possibly imagine and by the end of the shift, the caffeine isn’t even working anymore. We’re running on the fumes of adrenaline present right up until they’re not. It’s an exact moment, one in which all of the energy in your body exits like the plane is diving toward the scene of the crash. I was at my dad’s a couple of months ago and in the middle of dinner, all the blood ran out of my face and I said, “I have to go home.” It was instantly like, “yeah… get her out of here… she’s goin’ down.”
It’s happened to me multiple times. Sorry I fell asleep at your birthday party, Stacy. For those of you keeping score, that was when I fell asleep at the Indian restaurant. We’re going to a Mexican restaurant on Thursday. I’m thinking about loading up on chiles and jalapenos to give me a fighting chance. If my mouth is burning, it is less likely that Dana will have to carry me home fireman-style.
Stories That Are All True 
Love your writing. Great metaphors and imagery.
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I miss you. I know that’s weird, but your comments make my day.
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