Last week I worked seven days in a row, and that is no freakin joke. I'll never do that again, if I can help it. Seriously. Don't try it.
Day number six happened to be the 4th of July, which in my family used to be a sacred day of worship. Unfortunately, things change and we move away, but more importantly the people who you use to shoot fireworks into their sound moved away and it hasn't been the same since. So, instead of eating big, juicy clams and shaking my head every time my father pulled out a 3 foot long, bright red firecracker that he hangs off of the deck, I worked. I worked in the most po-dunk town that doesn't believe in splurging for, oh, I don't know AIR CONDITIONING in 99 degree weather. I worked and I heard the fireworks go off, and even saw ONE on the way home.
And my night was filled with gems like these:
Old man: Do you know how to make Holy Water?
Me: Yeah, you need a priest....
Old man....You boil the hell out of it!
Old man: Do you know why the Indians were here first?
Me: silence
Old man: Because they made reservations!
That's probably all he could remember.
And on day seven, I felt like I got ran over by some kind of 16 wheeler and realized that all of this taking care of old people started to make me feel old. My knees ached, my back hurt, I just wanted to sit in front of the tv. I found myself saying things like, "Oy, my sciatica." I wanted to be in bed by 7. You get it.
Still, it's an itsty-bitsy rush to put that many hours in a week. To push yourself and accomplish something. To survive in the first place. To not really see a difference in your pay-check, but doing it anyways. To be a super nurse.
I'm still recovering from the Seattle trip. How can you come back from a trip and then start a seven-day work week the next day and be all refreshed? I can't. I can work seven days in a row, but it's not a pretty picture in the end. It doesn't help that the fiancee also worked seven days in a row (it's not a competition sweetie), you're planning a major party in 5 days and have to deep clean everything, and you get new grass in the process which forces the pup to change her bathroom situation. Instead of refreshing, we regressed. You don't exercise, you don't communicate, you start having accidents in the house. Not me personally.
And yes, I know, I haven't written a damn thing about the trip. I have great pictures though. You want a peek?
And..... a shout-out to the cousins who are maybe reading this now. Holla.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are like something good that you can't have just one of. Yeah, I'll go with that.