The Casualties of Night Duty

My apartment looks like a war zone.  If I didn’t know better, I would swear that a bomb had gone off in here.  My bed isn’t made.  My clothes are strewn everywhere.  The dirty dishes are piled up in the sink.  This place is atrocious.  I’m almost embarrassed to admit I live here.  The sad thing is, I’m really just too tired to care.  Such are the casualties of night duty. Every last drop of energy has been sucked from my body and my care level has dropped to zero.  All I want to do is lie on the couch and doze off into a television-induced coma.  It’s a sad state of being, but after three long nights at the hospital plus Thanksgiving thrown in for good measure, I’m zapped.  So, here I am, wallowing in my own filth, watching reruns of American sitcoms.  The whole situation would make me feel pathetic, if I had the energy to waste on such emotions.  Instead, I’m just numb.  I can only hope that a good night’s rest will boost my spirits and energy levels, because this is just plain depressing.