Days of the Week

Sunday, December 6, 2009

I don't even know what day of the week it is.

I had Monday off, which made Tuesday my Monday, and so I thought Friday was Thursday. I had most of yesterday off, which made that Saturday, which I'm pretty sure it was. But I'm working today, so it's technically my Monday, which makes tomorrow Tuesday, which it's not.

And I'm tired. Getting up at 4:30 am does not agree with me. Given the complete lack of signs of life at that time of day, I'm pretty sure that time of day disagrees with most people.

I roll (or more like droop or collapse) through the door back home at 6:30 pm.

Bug and Monkey are in bed at 8:30 pm. (or 9, or 9:30. It all depends on my level of alertness and motivation at the time.)

I try to catch up on e-mail, some academic reading, laundry, and dishes for a hour. I fall into a dazed stupor in front of the TV for another hour (At this rate, I will never catch up with my DVR). Then I shower, read a little more, and fall asleep around 11 pm.

Only to wake up in 5 1/2 hours and do it all over again.

I spend 2 out of every 24 hours with my children. I spend just over twice that sleeping. It makes me feel selfish. And those 2 hours are spent trying to get them to sit up at the table and just eat two bites, for the love of all that is holy. And where is the math homework? And I've already asked you five time to put your pajamas on, why are you still running around naked? And I'm pretty sure that is plenty of water for tonight.

And that makes me feel even worse.

The confusing thing for me is how much I like the work that I'm doing right now. I haven't once dreaded going to work. I do dread the alarm clock going off, but that's a completely different thing. Actually, most of the time, when I hear my alarm go off, I think it is mistake, and my brain doesn't comprehend that I actually need to get out of bed in the pitch black night.

Last month, the work I did was mind-numbingly boring. The days were so painfully slow that it was all I could do to pull myself out of the house, into the car, and actually go. I was home a lot more.

This month, I'm home less, but the work itself appeals to me more than anything else I've done so far my intern year (except for emergency medicine. If anesthesiology takes a turn for the worse, that it what I would do instead.)

Right at this moment, writing this between my pager going off every 5 minutes, occasionally twice at once, I am desperately homesick. Each sign of a child in the hospital tugs painfully some place deep in my chest.

I feel like I'm caught in some masochistic catch-22. I can either work that I enjoy and been gone all the time, or I can dread every second of each day of work and be home more.

I would pick the second one, if I was forced to choose.

It makes me wonder why I ever get upset with my children. Why would I ever waste a single breath being mad? (Until I find that Monkey has turned off the fridge. Again. And then I have a memory lapse about not being upset.)

Writing the month may be scarce.

With time being my most precious commodity, I'm trying to spend it on my family and get us out of the slump that the last week has thrown us into. That's what I plan doing on my next Saturday...whatever day of the week that may be.

2 comments:

Karen said...

I don't even have a spouse or kids, but I certainly understand your crazy schedule. I haven't had two consecutive evenings at home in about two weeks. I've been out until easily 10 or 11 at night, just to get up at 5 the next morning, work all day and then other responsibilities. I had to get a stomach bug last week just so that I could stay home and get some rest!

I can't imagine trying to do all that while also trying to raise little ones. It's a good thing you have such a supportive husband!

Stephanie Faris said...

Writing? I'm amazed you have time to breathe with that work schedule! Much less ENERGY to breathe. You're doing what's called "burning the candle at both ends," and that almost always leads to burnout.