Shift work in any field, let alone medical, can be gruelling, and this week saw Reuben with an array of overnight shifts with finish times between 2am and 6:30am. Being a stay at home wife with “no money, and no prospects” (peep Jane Austen fans), his routine inevitably becomes my own. If you are anybody close to me, you will be familiar with my militant personality and how I thrive on a set routine. I like my days to be predictable and orderly to keep the anxiety at bay, by establishing some illusion of control. Keeping such hours appears to have slightly upset my body clock, and I have become quite the insomniac when Reuben is away, continuously on guard to protect the home and our vast assets. If you were familiar with our quiet neighbourhood you might accurately assess me as delusional, but I am sure you are all more gracious than that. Nevertheless it is an unfailing recipe to leave me a tired and emotional mess for the day ahead. Reuben is very gracious, but I think he lives in fear some days. One day saw me cry on three separate occasions, until I had a nap and all that is good in the world was restored.
Reuben arrived home from work at 3am on Thursday morning and was back in the car with me a few minutes later bound for Asda on a mission to collect snacks. A late rise the day before had us below our daily meal quota, and we were both ravenous (perhaps me more so than him) at an ungodly hour of the morning. The fruit in the bowl and nuts in cupboard proved to be very unappealing. It was an awfully fun experience to exercise our adult freedom so lavishly, reemerging from the doors armed to the teeth with Pringles. It is now just slightly mortifying to read this back to myself. Asda is open 24 hours a day, but the number of people who actually make use of such hours I am certain is a lot less. Both Reuben and I were thrown back to our Woolworths days, walking in to find pallets of stock everywhere and fridge and freezer lights turned off. We were 2 of 3 people in the store who were not staff, and let me tell you Asda is large. For the benefit of my fellow Tasmanian’s, our Asda store has architecture similar to that of a gothic Grindelwald, housing a shopping experience similar to that of Kmart and Woolworths on steroids, as well as a mini McDonalds to refuel after a full grocery shop. Unfortunately, the mini McDonalds is not open 24/7. Something to leave in the suggestion box.
Our two introverted souls have been quite thrown out of whack, and I exclaimed to Reuben in slight shock horror yesterday before he went to work that we had gone a whole 24 hours without eating a meal together. From doing everything together, to now eating and sleeping at seperate times is quite peculiar. As the week has gone on, I’ve slowly slipped back into a semi respectable routine. There was great joy when I woke up to the lock turning at 7am, announcing the return of my husband – “I’ve actually slept!”. As the person who has not had to do any of the night work, it seems to have affected me more drastically than it has Reuben, I am ashamed to say – my resilience is in need of a good workout.
cold coffee 
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