I worked partway through college at a local Intensive Care Unit.
Thanks to that particular endeavor, my character knows no bounds. But it didn’t happen overnight. My hair, you see, may not be completely red, but it’s there–I have the feistiness to prove it. So, when I would come in at 5 o’clock in the morning to plastic bags stuffed to overflowing with soaking wet bed linens, while male nurses sat idly by as their patients slept, I would give them a piece of mind–it usually involved asking if they had some sort of mental impediment that would prevent them from being a decent human being.
The result was not quite as I had hoped.
Most chuckled and bestowed upon me the moniker “Little Miss Sunshine.” One, apparently, was enraptured. Surely, with such passion, I was the woman of his dreams. For weeks afterward, every time we’d work together, he’d sidle up to me and ask the same question: So, what do you like to do? Every time I’d answer the same, Read, write, travel, drink copious amounts of tea and coffee while chatting with friends–basically, if there’s even a chance of a story being involved, I’m so there.
Around the tenth No really, what do you like to do? I could take it no longer: Well, when I’m not training for my ultra marathon I like to freeride, hang glide, windsurf–I’m especially fond of wave jumping, I’m set to try aggressive inline skating, and while I’ve yet to bungee jump into an active volcano, it is on my list.
Poor fellow; he looked so happy. Telling him, No, not really, felt something akin to telling a child Santa Claus does not exist.
All I’ve got to say now is it’s a good thing I’m easily amused. Other than the occasional coffee, tea, or meal shared with friends and family, my nose has been pressed to the grindstone. But who are we kidding? Even the garden has occasion to make me giddy.
Flowers that took a mere decade to bloom, for instance . . .
Or the fact that we did not murder our honeysuckle . . .
Seeing what comes of the hostess gifts dropped off by feathered visitors is pretty exciting, too . . .
Although, I must admit, after hours spent watering, digging, and pruning, I just might be ready for something extreme–like a real, honest-to-goodness holiday. What would that be like? I don’t know, but I’m thinking pretty great.