Den sorgligaste musiken i världen in The eye of every storm

We haven’t seen the sun in weeks. Freezing rain gave way to blankets of ice that fell victim to the warmth of more rain. It continued until it turned to snow, white covering the ground several inches thick. On the snow day, I shrugged my heavy coat over my shoulders and sank my tennis shoes in the depths to find the back porch, and after gaining trust in my footing, walked towards the car. The moonlight reflected off the ground, turning the world a strange purple. I saw my dogs footprints. I saw a snow angel. While I slept the day away, Katrina and Watson played in the snow, and I missed it. The A-framed greenhouse in the backyard had “Watson + Mommy” written across the lexan panels.

Another family moment I missed. My chest tightened as these events become all too frequent. I put the car in reverse and backed over the snow angel, heading to work for yet another 10:00pm- 06:00am shift, my first of nine consecutive. These stretches of work makes us ships passing in the night, silent and unaware confined to the inky blackness of separation. The reward is great however; usually in the form of seven-twelve days off in a row, sometimes twice a month.

I don’t feel normal anymore. I don’t know what day it is. It’s the day where I eat dinner and drink wine at seven in the morning. It’s the day I crawl into bed just before she wakes up and I sleep alone as did she the night prior. It’s the day I wake up and leave for work early, just so I can stop and get coffee to counteract the drugs the make me sleep through the brightness. It’s the day I come to work and the airline is in shambles. It’s the day this all repeats.

These times I find it hard to find joy. Nothing interests me, or perks me up, or turns me on. Television is finishing its endless night time cycle of infomercials. The news has been the same for the last twelve years, and outside, the rain is endless. It feels like a gritty danish crime drama about nothing.

Three more days. Saturday, I sleep in, and wake up and life starts again. Until then, the raindrops. the raindrops. the rain drops.

Last updated March 04, 2015