I warn my colleagues that I'm going to start getting antsy on my last shift before a vacation. They know that as the clock inches toward six in the morning I will be shooting out of the dispatch center like Calvin dashing out to play with Hobbes after school. It's not that I don't like work; I do, but one does need a break for time to time.
Working twelve hour shifts I end up with what appears to be a crazy patchwork quilt of shifts, Saturday, Sunday Monday, four hours Tuesday, off Wednesday then work Thursday and Friday. The next week I work the opposite except I always have a four hour shift Tuesday night to make up my forty hours weekly. By the city's payroll schedule I work three twelves and a four Monday to Sunday. It's fabulous. Especially as when I am working I get to spend my afternoons at home after I wake up, alarm clock free. I have lots of time to myself to recharge my introverted batteries.
I will look forward to coming back, breathing a sigh of relief as we cross the Dade county line and leave behind the mass of people Up North. I have plans for when I get home, to launch the boat and look forward this year with the hope of a summer afloat. There will be road trips I don't doubt but first I shall be glad to get back to work, to my motorcycle, and to my routine. I will collect my accumulated mail and resume my newspaper delivery in the driveway. Things will be back to normal next week.
Meanwhile we have to confront roads, maps and weather and cold temperatures and we shall be the better for it, if only for a week confronting an actual seasonal change.