Nightshift Doter
So dramatic... But a short one. I just liked the title and ran with it 🤷♀️
My prior paramour has become paranormal activity, and like every city worker, I myself have a most unfavourable full-time profession. I am the nightshift doter. When the sun’s above land, it’s out of my hands. Properly and palpably distracted just enough; keep me happy, keep me tough.
So, I’ll spend my last dimes on a ride? Or I’ll discover there is no cure, and that’ll be my labefaction that day… But the night is still to come, and it has teeth in the same way that it has no construction; no anatomy.
I fall away easy enough; for that I count my lucky stars, and I would if I weren’t too busy drawing the blind. With each fall and rise comes a new, unkept promise of this time leaving you behind. I’m sure she watches with utter indignation, because on tonight’s shift, I ponder with a view of, tomorrow, facing the matter at hand. It’s unprecedented. This over-assessment is typical, only with the concomitant certainty I won’t have to practice what I preach. And what work do I have to show for all this?
What do I have to practice?
About to clock in to another night shift of overthinking!!
