Today is one of those days where I volunteered to work my shift and half of a night shift so Chemene can get at least one night off per week. I did it to be nice, and maybe to build up a little emotional currency in my coworker bank for my own unanticipated meltdowns. I remember how bad working nights is. It destroys your life and leaves you a vicious, depressed, emotionally-unstable weepy husk of a human. And working 7 night shifts in a row is more horrible than anything I can imagine. Remember those 10 plagues? Cake. I'd take boils and locusts over 7 night shifts any day, hands down.
However, as they say, no good deed goes unpunished. I'll clock out at 3am, I'll be home by 3:30 and we're heading out for our Nebraskan Adventure at 7am.
I mention this, not just to elicit the sympathy of my foil-helmeted friends and minions (although that would be a nice gesture, if anyone is inclined), but also to pre-justify my lack of blogging this weekend. Hopefully I'll be back Sunday night with a freshly-killed and tastily field-dressed Jeep.
In the meantime though, I have one dose of seizure medicine left, so I'll be spending the day stalking my neurologist for a new prescription. Is there anything more Hunter S. Thompson-esque than a sleep-deprived, seizure-prone Med Tech crossing the country with her lesbian lover to bring back a $350 car in a weekend?
Can I be any more of a clichè?