Another night at work. I awoke from a deep loving sleep at 530, when my alarm went off with its ugly musical song to transport me back to life. Back to life, where I had to be at work at 7pm, which meant I had a half an hour to shower and leave by 6. What a life I lead, I thought, as I think every day, as I forced my lead heavy body off my precious bed and into my bathroom. I threw some apples into my bag. Dinner. I was hungry and wanted a real meal, but I hadn't cooked a thing in my kitchen since before I started this night shift in May. When once I had been close to becoming a gym rat, I now set foot in the gym once, maybe twice a week, for a boring twenty minutes. Nothing was the same anymore. Many people adjust to the night shift; I mean, it's not such an unheard shift. Nurses, cops, doctors, and firemen work overnights. It's not like I am the only one, it's not like I am being punished. Why has it been over six months and still I am miserable? Still I can hardly stay awake at work, still I had no routine in my life. Still I could not sleep during the day when I was off the night before, still I went to work sometimes on no sleep and therefore was awake for over 24 hours. Still I was unhappy. Still I felt powerless. Still I could not make a system to secure any sense in my life. I felt like a perpetual vampire even on the nights I was home and off, always sleepy and dreaming of my bed. I was hungry. I craved a salad in a bad way; a Greek salad with grilled salmon. It was perfect; if only I had enough time to order one, pick it up, and get to work in time. Knowing I didn't, I decided on running into the Fairway to fill up a container with some salad, and buy some hot food too. Of course the hot food was all gone. The silver trays were empty and cleaned. Frustrated, I grabbed a plastic container and began filling it with lentils, their chick pea salad, some feta and cucumber, some pasta with artichokes. I took a lid and as I went to secure it, noticed a beautiful curly black hair on an artichoke. I left the container. I didn't want sushi. I didn't want soup. There were no to-go sandwiches. All I could find was some falafel to-go. Grabbed it. Paid. Ran out. Into my car, into work. 2AM. It's (so far) a quiet night. I'm not sure which I hate more, the quiet nights that drag on longer than eternity, or the busy nights filled with the emergent cases and traumas that make my head spin, my anxiety take control, and sometimes make me cry. Every night I question what am I doing with my life and why. I went to nursing school. I wanted to be a nurse. I didn't want to do this, though. Once I finish my petty responsibilities earlier in the shift, there is quite literally nothing to do. My colleague Natalie is sitting across from me at the table in the break room, wrapped in a blanket, asleep on her books. My head pounds. My shoulders ache with sleepiness. My eyes are burning with the torturous desire of closing. It's like no matter how much sleep I get during the day I just can't stay awake all night long. My vision seems out of focus, sort of like after you've drank a lot and can only hold your eyelids open halfway so you're seeing out of narrow slits that are your eyes. Coffee helps only so much. Water helps only so much. You take a walk around the operating room only to return to the break room to collapse into a chair and fall asleep sitting upright. The lights in the ceiling burn your eyes, tormenting you and reminding you that you are at work and not home in bed. You wish you could text or call someone to help stay awake and pass the time, but no one is awake. Everyone normal is asleep. Thinking of things to do to pass the time you pour more coffee. You've had so much already that your stomach convulses at each sip. A few minutes has passed. Your eyes tremble. You think of something to do. Hot oatmeal, yes. Okay. You muster enough energy to get up and open two packets of Quaker instant apples and cinnamon oatmeal and mix it with hot water from the cooler. It's so unappetizing. But it's something to do. An hour later you open the cabinets hoping to find cookies or some bag of pretzels left over during the day shift. You find a package of Oreos and eat whatever is left, promising to go to the gym when you leave work. But you never do, because it takes effort to drive home without crashing. And this is how you gain weight working the night shift. Knowing if an emergency case came in at any moment, I'd have to jump up on a second's notice and within the snap of fingers be alert and ready to go and know what to do. Like out of a dead sleep, I'd have to perform perfectly, quickly and effectively. It's unbelievable.