During the latter half of this
week I've found myself unable to discern what
day it is.
All days now are
broken into "
working" days and "
non-working" ones. I have not had a break in over a week, so my internal calendar is currently being
trampled by so many eight or nine-hour shifts and a dull
headache I've been incubating for a couple days.
My schedule is such that when coupled with my geographical location and the current tilt of the northern hemisphere away from the sun, I get up before before daylight every morning. Rising while it is still dark is one of the more oppressive things one does in their lifetime. To wake without morning light royally fucks with my circadian rhythms. Of course, my wake/sleep schedule has never been concrete, but I’d prefer green sunlight fighting through pinprick pupils instead of getting up before my body has realized it is morning.
Drove away from the city with glorious sunrise #34 in my rearview. Arrived to find only three cars in the parking lot aside from my own and only then realized exactly what day it was.
I'm currently working in a huge stockroom, attempting to clean up the messy and generally entropic wasteland the former gentleman in charge left in his wake. He was apparently quite the pack rat, and I continue to find little caches of old McDonalds cartons and mouldered bottles of water in the corners. Burst several blood vessels in my left hand while lifting an especially heavy sheet of glass.
My route to/from work is such that I drive away from the sunrise and into the sunset. While driving home today I entertained visions of multiple Phoenix (Phoeni?) dancing from the ashes of their former selves, only to burn again at the end of the day. Each time the mythical bird reemerged from its own charred remains, it was even more beautiful than its former incarnation. My wish for the day as I drove home was to continue on straight into the sun.
The cycle I'm in is beginning to eat me alive.