Weekends

Weekends are not "special" for me as they are for many. I do not awake on a Sunday morning, walk to the curb to get the paper in my robe and slippers. Sip my coffee while the cat intertwines in my legs, begging for his a.m. feeding.

The alarm (perfectly-named. it "alarms" my system) jolts me awake at 0450. If I do not arise in the next 30 seconds, I am apt to fall back to sleep. Especially day 3:3 of 12 hour shifts at the hospital. If I have not been concientious, I must do some ironing of my scrubs, shower, make a lunch, and leave by 0610 to stop at McD's for an egg and cheese sandwich and a greasy beginning to my day. I am punching in as the East Coast is awakening. 6:53am. If I am really lucky, I get a second jolt of coffee and a snack mid-morning. If I am not, it is IV's and foleys before my eyes are truly open. An occassional code at 0730. Yesterday it was a poor person with all his belongings from some West Coast town, schizophrenic, explaining all his ailments to us. It starts to rain outside. I am thinking about my kitty in my lap, lying in bed, drinking hot cocoa now. Or, was it moving bowling equipment to my practice pair for practice session beginning at 0700? Preparing in some state which still allows smoking inside, and having a fan (a chain smoker) at 0745 following you with a smile-me with my nose covered and trying not to breath between shots. Signing autographs at 0800. Changing ball surface in the locker room on the ball spinner, hands covered in acetone and sandpaper grit.

Then, I realize I have never really slept in on a Sunday in my adult life. But, Sundays have always been special for me....