The clock reads
2:58 a.m. I guess this is what you could almost call an “all-nighter.” That’s
what my friends used to do back in college the night before a term paper was
due. It was called “pulling an all-nighter.” It was a status symbol of sorts
but something I never did – well, except for one time. There I was with my Olivetti
typewriter plinking away into the night. I didn’t manage very well, and my eyes
kept closing of their own accord. To add insult to injury, I kept forgetting
which cartridge was for black and which one was for white.
I bet many of you
don’t even know what I’m talking about, so for once, I’m going to explain to
the younger generation something about hi-tech in the ’80s. You see, when I was
a little girl, my parents had what was called a manual typewriter. I couldn’t
even use it. Each key had to be pressed down very hard, unlike the electric typewriter
that I learned to type on. Well, my parents’ version had these ribbons of ink
on rolls that had to be put into the typewriter in a certain way. By the time I
was typing, those old-fashioned ribbons were obsolete, and cartridges had come
into fashion. These devices were inserted into the side of the typewriter: one with
the black ink tape and one with the white eraser tape. If you wanted to remove a
mistaken letter or word you had typed, you would align the typewriter just so
and then retype the error over the white tape, and it would erase it. Oh, we
thought we were so fancy.
So, getting back
to my desk, in the middle of the night over 40 years ago, there I was typing
away and changing cartridges left and right when, suddenly, I noticed that the
machine wasn’t working anymore. Oh brother, I thought – and right when I needed
this thing to work before the next day’s deadline. I tried this and I tried that,
but nothing worked until finally I went to the night supervisor and asked for
assistance. She looked at it for maybe 30 seconds before she informed me that I
hadn’t inserted either cartridge, so naturally nothing worked. That was my last
all-nighter.
Those days of
being so exhausted that I couldn’t even think are long gone. Those days of
having to be up for little children are a distant memory. Those years of
feeling that if I didn’t find my bed soon I would fall down are over. And with
all that far behind me, the guilt trips went too. How many times had I been in
the middle of a great book and decided to stay up to finish it and then paid
big time the next day when I practically needed toothpicks to keep my eyes open?
These days, I can
stay up as long as I like and still get up the next morning and have a great
day without feeling guilty. Now, I don’t make a habit of doing this too often
since there’s something called too-much-of-a-good-thing, and I know it’s not
the healthiest of habits. I’m also kind of vain when it comes to bags under the
eyes, and I’ve seen plenty of people my age with those pouches, which I’ve
heard come from a lack of sleep.
It’s just that a
night like tonight was too hard to skip. It’s Thursday night, and I don’t work
on Fridays. Not only that but we were invited out for Friday night! Does it get
any better than that? The table is set, and all I have to do is put up the
cholent tomorrow, which takes about 20 minutes tops and then make the special
dessert that my husband enjoys, and bingo, I’m done!
Since I knew this
would be the score, I spent the entire evening writing a speech and language
evaluation report. Not only that, but I had a ball doing it. Of course, I love
to write on topics of my choice, but I am really enjoying writing these
evaluations, too. They’re like collecting many pieces of an intricate puzzle
that need to be put together in just the right configuration. It’s a great
feeling. And it’s even better knowing that I don’t have to wake up early tomorrow
morning – and it’s just the absolute best knowing that I don’t have one guilty
bone in my body.
This hooky-playing
feeling is going to continue through Shabbos and Sunday and even Monday, too,
because then I have to go to jury duty. But here’s the irony of it all: I used
to love getting out of going to work. Blizzards were always my favorite, and
power outages were second best. Jury duty wasn’t ever a number one choice, but
it would do in a pinch if it meant getting out of going to work. But now, I
love my work. I love everything about it. The clients are delicious, I enjoy
helping them make progress. My coworkers are the best, and I love my boss. I
like that my job as a speech therapist is multifaceted, so it’s hardly mundane.
And wonder of wonders, I like writing those reports.
I’m planning to
get a good book out of the library and pack a nice lunch for Monday when I have
to go into the city at the crack of dawn to do my civic duty. There I’ll be
with people from all walks of life, praying that I am not called for a case
that would take days to decide, and hoping that I won’t have to determine if a
fellow citizen is guilty or not. I may be tired or even exhausted, depending on
how much sleep I got in the previous days, but as I snuggle into my sweater and
with my book in my lap, I know I won’t feel guilty for my lost sleep. I’ll smile
and think fondly of those sleepless nights in the distant past and all the
wonderful things I accomplished, while hoping those unsightly bags aren’t one
of them.
