Saturday, September 09, 2006

Well, things change.

Now I am a full-time lockup guard. Freak me green and call me frog.....

I can't say this is my favorite way to spend time. But in some ways, it's like being the night desk clerk at a very strange hotel. Like the Hotel California, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. I sit and amuse myself while drunks sleep in the cells. The regulars know my name now. I even found my name in dispatches on the cell walls -- apparently I'm a bitch. I know who wrote that, though, and it was a young man who was trying to convince me that having a cigarette would be a good idea. I disagreed. Especially since it sets off all the fire alarms if I let people smoke in the cells...

I'm fighting the urge to listen to the same songs over and over again. It seems that that is the doorway to manic. Either it's a symptom or it's a cause, but either way listening to OUTKAST doing "Roses" or whatever repeatedly seems to trigger something. I suspect that all of it revolves around lack of sleep but I have no proof....

I'm off tonight. I called (I'm so STUPID sometimes) and volunteered to go in at 6 am . don't ask me why... All I know is that *I* like it when I know when I'm going to be able to go home, so I called and told the person who's working right now that I'd be in at 6...

4 comments:

Delia said...

I have had the same recurrent song thing going on as well. Hmm.

Glad you've got a new job so quickly. Sounds like it'll give you plenty of time for all kinds of crafty stuff. :)

Michelle de Seattle said...

Friday is apparently 'Play "Feel so Bohemian" by the Dandy Warhols 5,000 times' day in my own little mental discotheque.

Edward said...

You are a glutton for punishment that's why.

On my first dispatch job, we did lock-up also. I don't miss it.

kaiela said...

I've been reading the sensational mysteries left by former guards, and sorting out the record room while guarding. Yup, glutton sounds about right. Plus with the listen to the same song thing, I can only conclude that my own brain also hates me. (mental discotheque, that's good... do you have those hanging reflective revolving thingies in there?)