Eating Dinner… in Daylight?!

First week of day shift and I’m adjusting pretty quickly as it turns out.  Finding it a bit hard to go to bed at night still, but getting better at winding down – it doesn’t help that our little fuzzball likes high-diving off of the bookcase at the foot of our bed once we fall good and asleep.  Seems like the words “I’m going to lock you out” were understood by her because once I uttered those she settled down.

Day shift is very different at work, a different customer flow for one – also a lot of folks I’d just rather not interact with are on a different shift than me so it minimizes the amount of fuckery I have to deal with.  I keep the caffeine flowing and I don’t even get dozy.

Gotta say though, this cooking dinner at a reasonable hour is awesome!  I’m not sure how the hell I managed to get through a year of closes and eat so late.  Also along with the day shift I’m kicking off the beginning of daily trips to the gym. All in all, it’s shaping up to be a good week!




This time of night is both a blessing and a curse.  I have peace and quiet, which helps with focusing on writing, and I definitely need some sort of mental exercise to check my brain out for the night so I can sleep.

However, after spending all day talking to strangers, I want to talk to people I know – but everyone, including my better half, have gone to bed.  I find myself having one sided (sometimes two-sided) conversations with the fur-kids, particularly Sylvester, who I’m pretty sure got a dog’s soul at the depot.  He is also afraid of his own shadow, and everyone else’s.  He sure is cute though.


Then there is Lolita – who is five pounds of raw, unbridled fury.  Of our three cats, she has the most attitude (so much so she once found her head pinned to the floor by our oldest – and largest – cat for a solid twenty seconds after swatting him in the face).  She looks innocent enough, but make no mistake – she’s a killer.  When she’s not hanging out in the bathtub for no apparent reason, anyway.


Then there is Mr. Fuzzy Bloomers aka Phantom, who is now sixteen years old, and was my boyfriend’s cat long before I knew him.  He’s acclimated pretty well, he is a laid back old fella – except when Sylly steals his food.  Which happens often.  He has a hard time getting up onto furniture because he has arthritis – which is what makes this picture such a gem.  It isn’t as portait-esque as the other two, because he was trying to climb back out because I guess the hooman wasn’t supposed to know he could climb up there?


Also,  I have no idea how we got lucky enough to end up with three tuxedo cats that were all rescues.  I just know that despite the scuffling that sometimes goes on at this time of night, I love these little floofs.

It’s oh so quiet, except…

Sitting on the front porch of the house we rent an apartment in, appreciating the quiet of the night air.

For the first time since we set up our little retreat out here, I hear a bat! I know bats strike terror into the hearts of a lot of folks, but I love the little winged fluff balls. Actually I plan to get multiple bats on my chest sometime in the near future. Tattoos, that is, not the real thing. Though, it would be pretty entertaining to walk into work with a bunch of actual bats clinging to my chest.

I've been told I'm twisted.
Not true.