I know it’s morning because the birds are chirping, just a few as it’s also raining. I’ve otherwise lost track of time but I do know it’s Sunday. I feel quite delirious now.
I make my way to the bedroom and lean on the bed for support as I undress, throwing my soiled suit to the floor. After three consecutive house calls I have sweated my blouse into a stinky mess and my white collar is make up stained. My jaw cracks with a yawn as I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I hardly recognise my reflection- I think I looked better when I used to stumble in at this time from a nightclub marathon in my twenties. Mascara smeared and red lipstick on my chin was a far better sight than the fright that peers back at me now. I appear pale, lines under my eyes and my Botox has worn off completely – I look haggard. The rain batters down heavier now as I roll into bed without taking off my two day old makeup and knowing I should shower but I simply can’t stand on my feet any longer.
As I pull the covers up to my chin and pray the work phone also takes a nap, I revisit my time on the road overnight. The dead I collected from beds.
I’m so grateful to feel this tired, weak, exhausted.
And as I decline yet another Sunday coffee date via text before I close my eyes, I know that right now- in his time of my life, I live for one thing and that is helping the dead any time day or night.
To take helpless bodies into our care.
I feel myself drift off to sleep and my tummy grumbles.
On second thought, I really could have gone a good smashed avo on toast and latte….