And so, blog, we meet again.

To answer a question - how I handle four nights in a row of nighshift, I've decided to describe how your attitude towards it shifts from day to day.

Day 1 - Stuck in a box.

Oh kill me with Fire. Your life is completely meaningless. On top of that, some random taxi driver turns up and thinks that him being the only person in the building except for you makes him just as attractive as he might have been had he been forty years younger and relatively sane. You find yourself wishing that aliens tried to abduct & impregnate you riiight about now and realise that one is already at it.

Day 2 - Spitfire in a box.

Your taxi driver hasn't turned up and you find yourself hoping that aliens have abducted and impregnated him. Your life is still completely meaningless, but just you wait till you get your record contract. Juuust you wait. People will remember the girl in the box. And they will wonder why they weren't nicer to her. Or why they didn't even bring her cookies.

Day 3 - Jack in a box.

You get hit by an immense power rush, and you sometimes even start dancing to Pablo Picasso, until you realise that you don't even need the music. You don't need nothin! You are no longer stuck in a box, you are the KING of THE box. Studio 54, eat my box. The box is my tool. The box could not exist independently of me. What would you little people do if you had to run to the bathroom more often than you did. What would you do.
MY box. Mine!

Day 4 - Buddha in a box.

During which the high from yesterday and the fact that this is the last night leaves you with immense peace and turns you into confuscious, buddha, and a chinese fortune cookie all at once. And then you try to demonstrate this to people.

"You gonna be working here long? Doing this for the rest of your life?"
"My box is just a metaphor."
"O - kay then. Well...I'd like to go to X please. How much is a ticket?"
"Your ticket is a metaphor too. Now go in peace, child. Spread the word."

Day 5 - Oh Box, where art thou?

In a way it makes day five, the day I'm off, an anticlimax. I find myself trying to follow the same routines I follow while in the box. Have a cup of coffee before breakfast, keel over from the pain of the holes being burnt in my unprotected stomach, complain about people I meet during the day, to whoever cares to listen. Meaning Dan, and well, Dan again.

And finally - sitting down and writing about it all in front of...well. A box.