I woke up this morning at 5:30 following a 13-hour coma. It's 7PM on a Saturday night, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm irritated by the bass pounding through the floor of the apartment above me. I'm watching The Jane Austen Book Club. I was under no illusion that working the night shift would be easy when I started. But three weeks later, I didn't know it would be so hard.

The best part of it is the work. Once I'm at my desk, I'm content. I feel valuable. And I learn. But when the night is over, I feel like I'm coming home to nothingness. I fill the time I'm awake with reading, writing, listening to music, or watching movies. I even started running. In the end, though, there's not enough to conceal the fact that I'm living in an entire different universe from my friends and family.

And I miss them.

It's 9:15AM. While the rest of you are heading to work or at work already, my weekend has already begun. I'm in my PJs, watching a movie, and drinking a glass of red wine. It's a small pleasure of my new schedule. I'm only two weeks in, but it's really hard to believe there are months more to go. Don't get me wrong -- I like the work, and it was surprisingly easy to transition to sleeping during the day. But the schedule is a bit devastating for relationships of all kinds. I do well alone. I like my "me" time. I have hobbies and interests that I'm happy to pursue in my free time. But when this -- movies, books, music, podcasts -- is all I have, it becomes isolating.

When I was adjusting to life in London, I felt the same way. I distinctly remember grabbing onto a quote I read from Into the Wild. "Happiness is only real when shared." It rang true for me then, and it rings true for me now.

There's still plenty of adjusting to do. I haven't mastered the perfect schedule of wakefulness/sleep, but I'm hoping I'll get there.

I leave you with my favorite track of the moment: "You" by Gold Panda. Happy Friday.

Three Weeks

The Nightlife