I set my alarm each night for 5:00 A.M. Some mornings I can anticipate the alarm, and so I shut it off a minute or so early. Shower, shave, dress, look in on my sleeping daughter, and hit the road. I’m in at work by 5:45. I’m not due until 6:00, but I hate being late, and I don’t like to jam up the night medic with a late call any more than I like being jammed up with a late call at the back end of my shift.
At work, after checking my gear and the ambulance, I usually head down to the bunk room to catch a little more sleep (We’re allowed to sleep until 8:00 A.M.). On a quiet morning I awake when my body is ready to wake rather than being jarred awake by the tones going off. It’s a great feeling to wake slowly and wonder where I am and slowly open my eyes and realize my surroundings. “Hey, I’m already at work. How great is this!” Two hours down, ten to go.
This morning I had that same feeling — the slow waking, wondering where I was, opening my eyes, looking around…
I was still at home. I swung my head violently to look at the clock.
I hate being late.