Settling In

I know I haven’t been writing much lately, and sincerely apologize, as I realize this makes for a pretty uninteresting blog.  It’s not that life hasn’t been interesting lately; it’s more that life has been incredibly overwhelming lately.  One would think that, with all of the bouncing around I do, moving to a new city would be a piece of cake.  I should be a pro at this by now.  Wrong.  The reality is, moving back to the states and to SoCal has been a little bit of a culture shock and is requiring some readjustment on my part.  I’ve been able to take most things in stride and appreciate this move for the adventure it is, but it’s taking time for me to feel settled and comfortable.

Some of the details of being back home are wonderful.  Food is less expensive.  Alcohol is much less expensive.  I can order a bottomless cup of coffee at breakfast.  My friends are thousands of miles closer.  But then, there are other details that remind me I’ve been out of the loop for a while and make me feel like a stranger in my own home.

I still have fleeting moments of panic when I drive, wondering for a split second if I’m actually on the correct side of the road.  More than once, I’ve felt compelled to take a wide right-hand turn.  Just as often, I forget which side of the car I’m supposed to get in.  A friend caught me in this conundrum the other day, which was a little embarrassing, but I couldn’t help it.  My poor brain just doesn’t know what to do.

The sheer massiveness of everything gets to me sometimes, too.  The freeways are expansive and traffic is a nightmare.  Even the local roads are big and bustling.  Everything is built-up and commercialized.  The world out here seems to be constantly running at an amped-up pace.  Brisbane may be a big city, but it is nothing compared to this.

I know it’s just going to take some time for me to settle in and hit my stride.  And, right now, I’m actually enjoying observing all of the cultural differences that I had become oblivious to.  And, I’m sure, after a few months I will remember exactly what side of the road I’m supposed to be on.

The Beauty of Sleep

It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for the body and soul.  I struggled through yesterday, navigating my entire day in a thick fog.  I couldn’t concentrate, but couldn’t have cared less.  All I wanted to do was collapse into sleep, but I couldn’t allow myself that luxury.  Sleeping during the day would have been counterproductive; even a short nap could have led to another sleepless night.  So, I suffered through my day, just waiting for the deliverance of nightfall.  And when it came, I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.  Sadly, this meant I wasn’t much company for poor Mouse.  He came home to a shell of my usual self, a zombie using my body as a disguise.  I made it through dinner, but not much longer.  My eyes grew heavy and I gave into the temptation of sleep within the opening credits of whatever movie we put in.  I was dead to the world before the plot even had time to thicken.  But, quite honestly, I could not care less.  Missing a rented movie was a small price to pay for such an incredible night of sleep.  I awoke this morning feeling human again.  Yesterday, my world was dulled by sleeplessness.  Today, my world is bright, shiny, and full of possibilities.  Now I truly can face the world and actually have a productive day.  Like I said, it is amazing what a good night’s sleep can do.

If Only I Could Sleep...

I hate when my body betrays me.  I despise the nights when, try as I might, I simply cannot lull myself into sleep.  It’s another side effect of working nights, I know.  My circadian rhythms are out of whack.  But knowing this doesn’t make it any less tortuous.  My eyes popped open at 3:30 this morning, when everything around me was still swathed in the black of night.  Even though I had only slept for a little more than four hours, I was ready to take on the world.  (Or, at least, tackle more wedding planning.)  Unfortunately, the world didn’t need much taking on at that hour, as it was still sleeping, along with my lovely fiancé, who peacefully slumbered through my tossing and turning, blissfully unaware of my insomnia.  Listening to his deep, dream-laden breathes almost made it worse.  Why should he be allowed the luxury of sleep while it so cruelly evaded me?  It just wasn’t fair.  I tried everything to ease myself back to sleep: relaxation techniques, reading a book, evening counting sheep.  Alas, nothing worked.  So, now at the much-too-early hour of 6:00am, I’ve officially given up.  I’ve resigned myself to the fate of being exhausted all day.  It won’t be pretty, but I’ll make it through.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be tired enough to actually sleep an entire night.

The Things I Missed Most

The list of things I missed while living abroad was incredibly odd and random, at best.  I didn’t have the slightest inkling I would miss most things, until the time actually came, and I was often surprised that I focused upon and obsessed about certain foods.

While backpacking through New Zealand, I couldn’t help but fixate on cereal with cold milk.  It was a completely unexpected craving, but I couldn’t help myself.  After a month of suffering through stale bagels and peanut butter, I dreamt of the crunch of the cereal juxtaposed against the coolness of the milk.  Sure, cereal and milk existed in the land of Kiwis, but we didn’t have the luxury of a refrigerator or cooler, so traveling with milk was out of the question.  Once we were settled in Australia and had a refrigerator at our disposal, my obsession shifted to specific types of cereal (namely plain Cheerios) and other convenience foods (i.e. Goldfish crackers and string cheese).  It was weird; things I never thought twice about while living in the States suddenly became of the utmost importance to me. 

But the thing I absolutely missed most was Sunday breakfast.  Again, we could have easily gone out for breakfast at any number of restaurants in our neighborhood, but it just wasn’t the same.  A typical Aussie breakfast is nothing like a typical American breakfast, and is usually twice as expensive.  Omelets, even eggs, were rare.  Hash browns always came in the patty variety.  And they seemed to be obsessed with roasted tomatoes, mushrooms, and avocado as sides.  I like all three, but after a while, I just wanted a “normal” breakfast.  Most of all, I yearned for a good cup of coffee.  I began to dream of a nice, steaming, and bottomless cup of regular coffee.  I didn’t want a cappuccino, latte, or Americano; I just wanted a cup of brewed, black coffee.  So, after nearly an entire year of deprivation, that was the first thing I did upon returning home.  I went directly from the airport to my favorite breakfast joint in Newport Beach, ordered a breakfast of scrambled eggs, and savored my hot cup of coffee.  I even had the server fill it up a few more times than truly necessary, simply because I could.  I may have been tweaking from the caffeine overload, but I was in heaven. 

Even after a few weeks, the luxury of a good breakfast and hot coffee is still not lost on me.  In fact, I think I’ve come to appreciate these things even more because I know what it’s like to go without.  Now, I absolutely relish our Sunday morning breakfasts.  They are a tradition I look forward to all week.  I know it’s silly, but I can’t help myself.  I’m a sucker for a good breakfast.

Dead Tired

Last night, I was so tired that I slept in a dead woman’s bed.  It’s sad and a little creepy, but true.  That’s what night duty does to you.  It makes you so tired that you will throw all of your fears and superstitions out the window for a few moments of shut-eye.  In my defense, the former patient had passed eight hours previously, the room thoroughly cleaned, and the linens changed, but still… it was a little spooky.  The thing is, I couldn’t help myself.  It was my third consecutive overnight shift and I was becoming delirious with fatigue.  I was beginning to get that light-headed, dizzy-sick feeling that only comes with staying up for way too long.  I had to take a nap.  It would have been dangerous for me not to; titrating drips with a half-functioning brain is not a good idea.  And believe me, her bed was not my first choice.  I first tried the usual hiding spots, but they were all taken.  Next, I investigated the other empty rooms, but none of them had beds.  My stomach sank as I quickly realized the dead woman’s bed was my only available option.  So, at 4am, with my brain fading fast, I did the unthinkable; I crawled into the deceased’s bed and drifted off into a brief and weirded-out sleep.  As strange and guilty as I felt about doing so, I’m really glad I did.  I needed those 30 minutes of sleep like a fish needs to get off dry land.  I woke up recharged and ready to tackle the remainder of my night.  I was a safer, better nurse for doing it.  I may still be brushing off the heebie-jeebies, but I’ll get over it.  Besides, I don’t think that little old lady minded sharing her final resting place.

A Mile-High Weekend

Oh my goodness!  What an exhilarating, comforting, and exhausting weekend!  I couldn’t have asked for a better visit to Denver.  I know we were only there for two full days, but we really put forth an amazing effort in the short time we were there.  We truly ran ourselves ragged.  It’s already Tuesday afternoon and I’m still recovering.  I wouldn’t have done it any other way, though.  As nice as it’s been to be back in the states, it felt a million times better to arrive in Denver.  The moment I got off the plane and into the familiarity of DIA, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Even in the confines of the airport, I knew I was home.

There is just something about Denver that makes my heart melt.  Sure it’s brown and dingy this time of year, but that didn’t dampen my spirits one bit.  I still felt like a giddy schoolgirl as we drove away from the airport and into the city.  I have a serious long-standing love affair with Denver that cannot be quelled by the ill effects of winter.  I’m in love with the mountain views.  I’m in love with quirky neighborhoods.  I’m in love with the relaxed vibe the entire city exudes.  And I don’t think many cities can boast a better restaurant or bar scene. (It’s unpretentious and delicious!)  Maybe I overly romanticize it just a bit, due to my longer-than-desired absence, but I’m still convinced Denver is the best city ever.  I owe a huge “thank you” to all of our friends who helped strengthen said beliefs and make this such a great homecoming weekend.