A kind of torture...

During school holidays I'd invariably be told off by mother for making a noise. You see, my dad did shift work, which meant that every 3rd week he'd have to work through the night. I used to hate night shifts because for the best part of the next day I couldn't yell, sing, scream, watch TV, play music or do anything that I really enjoyed doing for fear of waking my father.

My dad hated shift work too. He'd always spur us on to do well in school so that we could land a job that didn't involve working unsociable hours. For the most part, I've succeeded in this. Most of the jobs I've done over the last 15 years, I'm pleased to say, have followed office hours.

I've never been very good at keeping myself awake if I'm tired; I can nod off mid conversation if it's past my bed time. My idea of torture is being forced to stay awake. Sleep deprivation is a well tried interrogation technique. I'd sell my own mother at the merest hint of being denied my sleep. And when I don't get my proper rest, it knocks me sideways for days.

Look out tomorrow; tonight I have to go into work through the night....

Today's run at 17:15
Distance	4.02 km	Time	21:41
Pace	5:24 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Grey.