Eight Stinkin' Hours

It was only eight stinkin' hours.  It's not like I ran a marathon.  I worked a normal, 8-hour shift.  It's not a big deal to those that do it every day, but it's my first in 7 weeks.  And I felt good.  I didn't push and worry and think I'd never make it.  I did fine.

At one point, I looked at coworker Michelle and said, "I feel really good today.  I feel like a wise-ass again!"  She shook her head, smiled, and said, "You sound like one, too."

It was good to feel good.  Now I'm wiped out.  Done.  Cooked.

Goodnight.  I want to do this four more times this week.  If that's going to happen I need to go to bed.

Now.

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