9:00 PM to whenever: the fifth shift of the day. Once upon a time, these were the hours for nighttime trips to the movies and slow-going restaurant visits (coffee and dessert by definition), long hot baths and leisurely-read magazines. Now, on the fifth shift, I am occupied with trying to make progress on the many unfinished tasks and projects that will someday make this brand-new house a finished home.
Unhemmed drapes, furniture needing another coat of paint, light fixtures to hang---these sirens beckon me as the evening wears on: Come to us, we don't take long, think of how lovely it will feel to say you've finally finished! Some nights I try to ignore their songs from my spot on the couch; I flip through channels in search of some program that will seem like a better use of my time. Other evenings, I swim through a 5-minute bath (in my giant soaking tub, this is a ridiculous waste of water I know) and collapse in bed still wet, reasoning that I simply must catch up on my rest to be of any real use later on.
It's 9:59 PM right now, and I am taking time on the dreaded fifth shift to write this blog: seems like cheating! Tonight there was effort toward finishing the new play table and stools, but what about the unpainted niche near the master bedroom? That's only ten minutes of work, surely I should check that off my list tonight...? I can't. Well, what about hanging those speakers in the family room? No, that needs a ladder and it will be loud to set that up, might wake the kids. Paying bills? Unpacking the last 10 boxes from the move? Sorting one of the junk boxes in the garage? No. No. NO.
Really, what the fifth shift needs is some additional hired help. Too sad, too bad: the only other worker around this house is a union kind of guy, strictly an AM character who cannot be made to work the fifth shift under any circumstances. He is a single-shift show-off, kicking back with a beer and a bowl of ice cream at 9:00 PM, tv remote in hand. No threat or promise can get him to work the fifth shift, he shuts down when he shuts down and that's IT.
I have threatened to simply stop working the fifth shift. Canvases will remain half-drawn, wires will hang loose from the walls, decorations will stay tucked in their rubbermaid totes as the seasons come and go. "Go ahead and strike," single-shift man says. "I'm not sure I'll be able to tell," he snickers.
Maybe I will. After tonight's fifth shift. Just maybe.