To me, there just seems something unwholesome about slinking in after 4am, trying not to wake anyone up on the way to your own bed. The reason for being out so late just doesn't seem to matter all that much. This probably has to do with the way I grew up, but I'm not going into that here.
Anyways. 1:20am, there's an ambulance call for a patient with respiratory distress. By this time, I'm already comfortably in bed, so when I here the radio I'm thinking "do I really want to go? Three other people have already responded..." Then I realize that it's after 1am. I'm been staring at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep for over an hour and I'm no closer than when I started. Like hell I'm not going on this run.
The patient lived in town, so I was kind of expecting it to be a very short run; I was thinking I'd be getting back by 2:30, 3 at the latest. Maybe by then I'd be more tired and ready to sleep. Oh no. Treating the patient took forever and then we had to transport him back to his house.
Of course, during the course of this I passed by the tired stage and right into the 'untired' phase. Which leaves me here, typing this at almost 5am and eating corn chips. Not tired, but knowing that at some point today I'm going to crash. Hard.
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