Night #2 of my six-night stretch: I woke up at my usual time, 2PM, but I didn't really sleep all that hot today. For starters, some electric/gas line/community Bob the Builders decided that today was the day that they were going to wage war on some buried something-or-other, which then lead to my in-laws' dog sitting RIGHT OUTSIDE of our bedroom barking.
So while I did go to bed at 8AM like usual, my trusty six hours of slumber wasn't exactly the most restful. And for the most part, I do all right when that happens. I work 12-hour shifts, (which I really do prefer), and in the nursing profession, by the time you clock in and get report, essentially you're already behind the eight-ball; the 12 hours you get is pretty much a giant race-against-the-clock trying to get your meds in on time, complete that health history on the Alzheimer's nursing home resident that came up right in the middle of hanging your antibiotic that is a timed start because it requires a peak and trough, taking your fresh post-op to the bathroom while you hold your own bladder, trying to coordinate what you're going to order out for supper because the pizza place closes in 15 minutes and ICU still needs to place their order because everyone is tired and no one packed a lunch...
And people think nursing is a glamour job...
So anyhow...at 2PM I woke up, threw on my favorite "granny sweater", (an old lavender chenille hoody that I putz around the house in), and while my Keurig was firing up some hot water for some Rocket Fuel, I got the computer going while I trekked outside in 50 degrees of cloudy, windy, damp overcast.
"Wonder what's in the mail today?" I mumbled to myself, shuffling down the sandy driveway in my baggy sweats and 5-year old Asics that I REFUSE to throw out. (Good mailing-retrieving shoes, I reason).
Opening the box while trying to avoid our resident wolf spider that I SWEAR is trying to stealth-bomber its little way into my house via my Victoria's Secret catalogs, my anticipation mounts as I hope for maybe an edition of "Fitness", "Shape", maybe perhaps "Oxygen" magazines. Upon finding "Better Homes and Gardens", and a bunch of political mailers, (I will be thrilled when this election is over), I trek the 0.08 miles back up into the house to move on to the next important slice of my pre-work day: Rocket Fuel.
My Keurig machine is my little slice of Heaven. A 26th birthday gift from my future in-laws, it is a God's physical incarnation of all things Holy to a night-shifter. And since I'm the only one in the house that consumes either Rocket Fuel or coffee, it's really worth it's weight in gold.
After making my old stand-by cup size selections, (one large cup with one small cup in my Port Huron coffee mug), my hot water jet-streams out of the machine to douse my two green tea bags and steep until room temp. "Rocket Fuel" is my nick-name for my Andrea-special brew of green tea. "Pour hot water over a single tea bag and steep for 2-5 minutes", says the instructions on a green tea box.
My recipe involves 2 tea bags steeping in boiling hot water until the mixture reaches room temp, (or my caffeine headache gets bad enough), and the tea itself is no longer green but rather an olive brown with a skin floating across the top. (For the record, I am completely convinced that the "skin" is actually a collection of super-potent antioxidants). Once the tea has achieved brown-skin perfection, then and only then is it deemed worthy of the "Rocket Fuel" moniker.
Usually it only takes one cup of Rocket Fuel to get my jets ignited. After a cup, I'm usually tapping my foot rapidly on the floor, my hands are sweaty, my eyelids basically glued to my eyebrows and my pupils dilated. My creative juices flowing, my energy picking up a notch, and after peeing about 5-6 times in an hour, I'm ready to go for a run.
And people think coffee is the way to go...
But today, even after my Rocket Fuel, after wading through wedding planner e-mails, printing off documents that my fiance and I need to sign, finally making a last-minute decision on our wedding favors and placing that order, fiddling around on Facebook and Pinterest, (don't judge me--that's my reward for getting through the e-mails!), I sit here, working away as a wanna-be freelance writer and committed runner, and yet...
...I'm not feeling it. My foot is jiggling, my hands sweaty, my eyes open and my whole body on alert, and...here I sit. Waxing poetic about the wonders of Rocket Fuel, but with no desire whatsoever to make it happen. My Achilles tendons are a litte tight and sore, I have a crick in my back and physically every joint in my body is telling me that "today is not the day."
And here I sit, Fueled up, antsy, but enjoying the peace and quiet that my rapid-fire typing is sporadically breaking up. So today, I'm taking the day off.