I find I am having to force myself to think clearly, to collect my thoughts and stay on task. Why must it be so laborious? It is as if I am scraping at the depths of my very being for the strength and motivation to finish another long day of work while on pager duty. I would give anything to be freed of these chains. Alas, I am bound by honor to respond to critical alerts during ungodly hours of the night, hours at which even grave robbers would scoff. My survival hinges upon the number of power naps and the insane amount of B12 I take. The sun approaches the horizon and its shadows creep upon me, mocking me, reminding me of the anxiety-induced dreams with which my subconscious mind curses me in the night. I will soon head home, where I prepare for the evening, anticpating another restless night, anxiously awaiting the end of the week and the end of pager duty.