u/Essarray

I always thought it was south/right. Somebody on a thread in the P-town sub said it was north/left. I've always seen bodies to the south. Never checked out north. ​

This is probably more for the long timers. I'm nine years into nights with probably another twelve to go.

I feel like when I retire I'll probably quickly transition to being a morning person. I currently sleep evening and can picture myself sleeping in till four a.m. routinely.

e.g. 'reflection pool green'

I saw that water levels are pretty high at The Ledges. I'm guessing BAB might be normal or low?

Luckily I don't work weekends so it doesn't happen too often. When it does it's never a full shift, they just have me stick around to help them get the patients through stuff that only happens before 10 am. We haven't had to draw straws in a while there's usually someone available to stay who takes the bullet when they can.

[A poem I found about a naked guy fighting raccoons. Might be barely relevant here, but at least it's something different. I started reading poetry between sets at the gym. Seems like just the right amount of rest time].

Sheath of sleep in the black of the bed:
From outside this dream womb
Comes a clatter
Comes a clatter
And finally the mind rises up to a fact
Like a fish to a hook
A raccoon at the kitchen!
A falling of metal bowls,
the clashing of jars,
the avalanche of plates
I snap alive to the ritual
Rise unsteady, find my feet,
Grab the stick, dash in the dark -
I'm a huge pounding demon
That roars at raccoons -
They whip around the corner,
A scratching sound tells me
they’ve gone up a tree.

I stand at the base
Two young ones that perch on
Two dead stub limbs and
Peer down from both sides of the trunk:

Roar, roar, I roar
you awful raccoons, you wake me
up nights, you ravage
our kitchen

As I stay there then silent
The chill of the air on my nakedness
Starts off the skin
I am all alive to the night.
Bare foot shaping on gravel
Stick in the hand, forever.

Long streak of cloud giving way
To a milky thin light
Back of black pine bough,
The moon is still full,
Hillsides of Pine trees all
Whispering; crickets still cricketting
Faint in cold coves in the dark

I turn and walk back slow
Back the path to the beds
With goosebumps and lose waving hair
In the night of milk-moonlit thin cloud glow
And black rustling pines
I feel like a dandelion head
Gone to seed
About to be blown away
Or a sea anemone open and waving in
cool pearly water.

Fifty years old.
I still spend my time
Screwing nuts down on bolts.

At the shadow pool,
Children are sleeping,
And a lover I've lived with for years,
True night.
One cannot stay too long awake
In this dark

Dusty feet, hair tangling,
I stoop and slip back to the
Sheath, for the sleep I still need,
For the waking that comes
Every day

With the dawn.

From 'River of Doubt' by Candace Millard, p 83:

“On several occasions we thus swam Rock Creek in the early spring when the ice was floating thick upon it,” Roosevelt remembered. “If we swam the Potomac, we usually took off our clothes. I remember on one such occasion when the French Ambassador, [Jules] Jusserand . . . was along, and, just as we were about to get in to swim, somebody said, ‘Mr. Ambassador, Mr. Ambassador, you haven’t taken off your gloves,’ to which he promptly responded, ‘I think I will leave them on; we might meet ladies!’”

I am both traditionally curious and cynically curious.

https://www.instagram.com/p/DXsDVwwEwaS/

He posted a poor crop job of a small Sun piece that didn't seem to say much and went full ad hominem on the reporter.