For much of the past 13 years I’ve worked graveyard shifts. Have I gotten used to it? No. It’s an unnatural state, and I hate it. All sorts of studies have proven that people who work graveyard shifts have a whole host of health issues and a much higher divorce rate. I read somewhere that we also have a 40% higher rate of traffic accidents as well. I know my cognition vastly improves when I get the opportunity to sleep at night like a normal person. Most of the time I’m in a mental fog, and my whole life revolves around the desperate pursuit of sleep.
So how have I survived this long? By living in a completely artificial world. To wake up, I need caffeine. To sleep, I often need Melatonin, although it gives me psychedelic dreams. In the heat of Florida, I rely on air conditioning and black out curtains. I rarely see the sun. My social life is almost entirely on line.
I try not to closely examine the prepared food that I often rely on, because I know if I ask myself when its ingredients were still alive, even the vegetables, I wouldn’t be able to say. That’s really scary if you think about it.
One day a week I work 16 hours. I have my regular Midnight to 8 am shift, then I go home and try to cram in 5 hours of sleep before going back to work from 4pm to midnight. I half expect to pass myself on the highway, rolling along in my metal and plastic and rubberized car that’s powered by a series of tiny explosions.
The day in question requires advanced planning, because I know I will be incapable of thought when it arrives. I lay out my clothes ahead of time so I can roll out of bed and right into them. I leave a huge note on my backpack that says, “Don’t forget your lunch!” because I don’t have time to eat at home, and if I forget to bring food to the drawbridge it isn’t as if I can run off on a lunch break. Heavily loaded barges might have a problem with that. I have to time my caffeine intake just perfectly so as to keep me awake when I need to be, while not preventing me from sleeping when I can. Even so, when hell day is finally over, I usually can’t sleep.
The beauty of working that day is I get the illusion of 3 days off in a row each week. Granted, it takes one of those days just to recover, but I get to sleep when it’s dark outside. What a luxury! But those days never fall on a weekend. I can’t remember the last time I had a weekend off. I’m not sure I’d know what to do with myself. If someone were trying to test me for a concussion and asked me what day it was, I’d fail miserably.
My life is so weird it could be transported to a space station and I probably wouldn’t know the difference. Artificial food, artificial air, artificial days, artificial nights. I find that extremely sad.
But maybe it makes me appreciate the things that the rest of you humans take for granted. The passage of time. Routine. Normalcy. Sunshine. Friends. Graveyard shift isn’t for sissies. But I have to admit the sunrises are spectacular.
[Image credit: pinterest.com]
The View from a Drawbridge 
My Son, keeps the same schedule when he is off work. How crazy that seems to me. When I worked nights, I would nap a couple of hours when I got home and a couple hours before going back to work. Days off, I just slept nights, and did normal days. Of course, I only did it a few years. How anyone could do it for 13 is unfathomable. Still, I don’t think it is as bad as Swing Shift. Did you hear from Seattle?
Everyone seems to have their own way of coping. I don’t know, I think I’d LOVE swing shift. I’d get home at midnight, sleep while it was dark, and have daylight hours to run errands. Of course, I don’t have kids. Seattle is still pending, which is stressing me out beyond words.
I worked graveyard for a while, couldn’t handle it. It’s not for wimps.
That’s for sure.