SWING shift

When I told John my first choice was Charleston, he said great. Should be easy to get. That’s the one no one wants.

It’s because of the shiftwork schedule. He started off working days. Training, I think (I never QUITE know what he’s doing. I’m not sure if I’m not listening or he’s not explaining). The days were more like early mornings with an early return. Hardly a full day, and not adequate preparation for me to get used to his schedule.

We met up with some of his coworkers on his last day of work before their four day weekend. One of the wives and I were talking about her and her husband getting married in Hawaii (actually, BOTH the wives I met got married in Hawaii). This one though, never had an actual wedding. In the crowded, smoky bar I yelled at her, ‘DO YOU REGRET NOT HAVING A WEDDING?!’

Maybe it was the bucket of beer. Or maybe my words got translated through the smoke. But she interpreted it as ‘do you regret getting married?’ An appropriate question to ask in front of both John and her husband. She went into a monologue about cheating, picking up her husband at a hotel, not knowing where he was at night and filing for divorce.

My jaw dropped.

She said, ‘Oh, things are fine now.’

But her story continued about the MID shift. MID comes after SWING. SWING is 3ish-midnight. That’s the shift that John’s crew is on now. She said that one time her and her husband got into a fight and he left for 48 hours. What he really did was go to MID party, where the guys stay up all night to prep for the next week of MID shift, and then he slept all day at his coworker’s house. And then worked all night.

Hm.

MID shift comes next week. I think I might actually like that more than SWING. As it stands now, John and I wake up around 9 am. If you know me, that is unheard of. I never, in my life, have slept in. Until John started SWING shift.

I make John breakfast. Then we do chores around the house. When we get frustrated, I cook him a gourmet lunch in place of having dinner together. Then more chores. Some internet time. Start the laundry. I pack him his lunch and he takes off after 2.

Then my day begins. So far, I’ve packed in gym time, exercise classes, grocery shopping, banana bread baking, regular shopping, errands, home depot (naturally), cleaning, folding the laundry and finally settling into my chair on the couch and watching my shows.

And it’s only 8 pm.

I don’t like going to sleep before John gets home. It’s partially because we sleep in so late, I’m not tired. I also feel like I’m missing out if I don’t wait up and ask him about his day. I don’t want him to forget about me.

But really, the real reason? I’m scared of the murderers. And I don’t want them to think I’m sleeping.

This problem started back in San Diego when John would have overnight duty every few days. We lived in an apartment complex in a locked building with a security guard and a gate. But before bed every night, after watching Criminal Minds, I would make the rounds. Check behind the mirror in the living room (for the skinny murderers), in the shower, under the bed, in the closet (for the fashionable murderers?) and twice on the balcony.

I’m pretty sure there is no way a murderer could get in my apartment. But I’m not sure about the house. And every noise, creak, rustle, makes me jump. It’s exhausting looking for murders in a house this size. Two beds, two bathrooms, a garage, the FROG, the attic (where I was convinced there were squatters until John said that was just the noise the AC makes when it turns on), kitchen, and then all those places one more time. Just in case the murderer was stealthily moving around while I checked for him.

So I wait up. If the murderer is watching me, he knows I’m awake and alert, ready for him.