Roadkill

After working the "graveyard shift" last night, I came home, got a bite to eat, and packed my things in order to head back to my parents' house.  When that was finished, I had been up about 16 hours, was very tired, and thought it best to get a nap before the three-hour drive.  So, I curled up with my teddy bear at my usual bedtime, but was only planning to snooze for an hour or two.

I must have been more tired than I thought, because I slept a full five hours before waking.  Of course, I normally would be sleeping eight or nine hours at that time of day — not a mere five — to get ready for work again that night.  I was stumbling around the house, groggy as could be, trying desperately to shake the sleep-cobwebs out of my head, feeling quite a bit like roadkill must feel, and frustrated because I had slept so long but was still obviously needing much more sleep than I had received.  I was almost in a panic until my husband calmed me down, something he is very good at doing.  He made me stop, take a breath, and realize that the world was not going to end because I had needed sleep after working all night and having been up 16 hours.

A quick check of my cell phone showed that there was a message from my brother, informing me that he had already arrived at Mom & Dad's, and wondering when I would be there.  At my husband's bidding, I decided that since my brother was there to keep an eye on our parents for the evening and make sure they were okay, I would stay home to get my much-needed sleep, flip over from graveyard-shift schedule to a daytime-schedule, and join him down there tomorrow.



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