Here. To atone for the last several bouts of (to steal Deb's term) batshit insanity, I give you a present.



Inside this box is exactly how it feels to drive home after nightshift. The world is abysmally empty in the small hours of the night, but once in the car, out the building, there is light, there is life. There is that giddy feeling of freedom, of going home, the relief that bed is not so far away. There is a sunrise, sometimes, a glorious sunrise, just like this morning, with high clouds and a faint and distant rain that caught the sun, and the whole sky glowed golden and rich. There is a highway backed up on the inbound, but empty on the outbound, four lanes of 100 km p/h.

This is a secret time. In this time, I forgive nightshift entirely. I tell myself that I don't really want to give this up at all.

You'll notice that there's no way into this box. That's because you are all smart bunnies, and know better than to fall into the trap of shiftwork. Chances are, you'll never know what this feels like.

But I think you should have it anyway.