A Delicate Balance
thoughts on working 12-hour shifts
As is my normal routine after work, I ascend the stairs, grocery bags in hand, laden with provisions for the impending days. The contents are carefully chosen—enough to craft school lunches, concoct a couple of dinners, and supply an assortment of snacks. My arrival home occurs late at night, post a grueling 12-hour shift, and the prospect of engaging in any further activity feels daunting.
Dishes languish in the sink, remnants of the morning rush out the door. School papers scatter the countertops, and an array of toys and shoes haphazardly occupy the floor. The house bears the unmistakable signs of being lived in, a testament to the daily whirlwind of activities.
Part of me contemplates tidying up, initiating some semblance of order—perhaps loading the dishwasher at the very least. Yet, another part of me craves a direct route to the couch, where a movie promises a soothing escape. The internal debate rages, but the couch emerges victorious. "The kitchen can wait until tomorrow," I reassure myself, pouring a cup of peppermint tea as I surrender to option number two.
The days are interminably long, but the moments on the couch seem to slip away in a blink. This, I label as my wind-down time, an opportunity to disconnect and let thoughts dissipate. Attempting to follow the movie's plot proves challenging; my attention drifts, and I find myself hitting the rewind button more than once. What was said? What nuances hide within this conversation? After two rewinds, I acknowledge that it's time to retire for the night, surrendering to the pull of much-needed rest.
I really love the vulnerability and honesty here. You captured the feeling of depletion at the end of the day, where even a movie requires too much of what’s left, perfectly. Love this.