A Month on the Job

 My last day off at work was June 18th.  The following Monday, I was knocked for a loop when one of my subordinates called to tell me that he was in the hospital ICU having a couple of stents put in due to an arterial blockage.  It's been a seven-day workweek for myself and my other subordinate since then.  

In the subsequent month, I've forgotten what day of the week it was a couple of times, not that it has mattered.  One of the few things that keeps me tethered to the calendar is the trash pickup schedule- I know that regular garbage goes out on Sunday night, while recycling goes out to the curb on Tuesday night...  thank goodness for the Yonkers Department of Sanitation!  I didn't even take a day off to visit my mother in Virginia on her birthday, I called in a favor, and my coworker worked a double shift so I could skedaddle for a night.  I think I'm still a bit woozy from that necessary expedition.  Hell, it's not like I have had much use for circadian rhythms for a decade and a half...

My coworker is on the mend, he's still at home, working remotely for his primary employer, and he expects to return to us at the beginning of August. Inshallah.  At the risk of sounding cynical, I haven't exactly been averse to working such hours, the main office didn't even blink at the overtime I and my coworker are racking up.  Because of this, I posted a check to pay off the last six months of my car loan yesterday.  I'm looking forward to having a day off eventually, but right now, the freedom of discharging a debt is outweighing the freedom of having a day off, especially while the pandemic seems to be peaking again.