Now bed before 11 means waking before dawn, or close to: 6 a.m. which BTW is the coldest time of the night. Got up because of a strangling sensation caused by soggy lungs, and because my lower back, supposedly acupunctured into pssivity the night before, kept biting me ferociously. Well, no matter: I took a penicillin, did my exercises, cruised the net for a bit, thought about breakfast but wasn't keen on anything, cruised more FB, got half dressed, and then the phone rang, which at that hour means someone is sick and needs a nearby replacement. Indeed. Queasy toddler staff, 'can you be me for a few hours until I can work something out?' Sure, I say, intending to be her for half an hour and then roping the assistant into becoming the co-ordinator. Glanced at the clock on the study table. 6:42, lots of time before 8 a.m., but surely not too early to text R about switching shifts? Get phone, get R's number, am typing message when I see the time up in the corner. 7:45. I didn't turn the study clock forward in March. So scramble into rest of clothes, limp downstairs and out the door: unbreakfasted, unmedicated- neither arthritis meds nor cough suppressant- without the brace for my back or my knee, and ride like the wind to work. And make it on time but wincing with each step.
Fortunately I can do a baby shift in my sleep, and did, because natch that early rising rebounded on me. Misplaced everything I put down but luckily didn't drop anything human. And finally free at lunch to go home and have breakfast and all my morning pills and come back to work for a few more hours until 6. Have taken half an ativan which makes me feel better than in ages and shall sleep the sleep of the doped, the weary, and the unwell tonight.
Theoretically I'm not working tomorrow- physio and an eye exam, and rain forecast so no biking home from the thing halfblind in the sun. May the phone not ring; I shall disconnect the jack tonight.