It’s been two weeks.
On my feet for 8 hours a day when I’m used to an office job. Talk about a mindfuck…it’s enough that I’ve put a request into the doc to up my antidepressant meds if possible and eyed some OTC stuff that might help. The Bariatric procedure I had years ago limits the pills I can take while I get used to this new normal.
My overworked imagination names the robots and gives them personalities…(I WISH they’d let me shoot them sometime so I’d have proper pics) I swear they get as tired as we do by the end of the shift, and as crochety.
I’m 50, and I think the age of the average person on the factory floor is mid-20s. I feel every day of the 50 years at this job.
By the end of the day I’m walking like a zombie in a movie and so tired that I’m dreading the walk from the car to the house because I’ve gotten to sit behind the wheel and the muscles have stiffened up some.
I make it in, and directly to a hot shower to try and relax some of the muscles. Maybe get a late supper, but most of the time it’s directly to bed….mind you I’m crawling up the stairs to the bed.
It’s even funnier when I have to get back to the bathroom a few hours later.
So the weekend comes, and Saturday is still tricky, but Sunday is functional and I manage to get the laundry done and get to the shops to try and acquire some Dr. Scholls custom orthodics….because my insoles are crap.
One good thing, I’ve managed to get to the time where paychecks will come every Friday now. So that helps some…..I just wish the factory wasn’t soooooooo HUGE. You waste half your break trying to get to the bathroom, before having to turn back to get to the machine on time.
One thing the repetitive movements do is give me some time to think.
One thing I am sure of, if God created the heaven and earth in 7 days….his workshop is a factory.
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