Work Days and Work Nights

Sydney

Caleb

At some stage between the first news break and the final fade to black the days and the nights blur seamlessly into one. A wall of monitors glows persistently and racks upon racks of equipment, computers and consoles hum in concerto, a rhythmic, undulating throb. In the corridor outside of the control room editors and producers occasionally shuffle past, some indistinguishable from zombies.

-          Eeerrrggg….

My own moan is swallowed by the control room’s hum and I continue about my duties, ensuring that early, early morning news is ready to go. The news readers arrive, we roll record and the rest of the day – night blurs into nothingness, a pay cheque in the electronic mail.

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I wake up with a start, the mould stares at me – angry, and I stare back. What time is it? My dream machine tells me it’s 4pm, damn, it was such a nice day today, warm, pleasant and not like winter at all. The sun shone, the birds sang and it would’ve been glorious but instead, my heart echoes of melancholy. Inside of this room, inside of this house, the only thing that settles is despair. I drag myself down the damp hallway to the bathroom and urinate for what feels like an eternity but the weight on my shoulders doesn’t lift. The house is empty, deserted even but even in this state it is impossible to feel that it is your own. Heading to the kitchen my eyes turn to Amara’s room, hoping against reason to find her there – nothing.

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The kettle clicks off for the third time and I finally decide that I don’t want any tea after all. It’s 7pm, the German’s will be stuck in traffic and thank fuck Wilkes hasn’t returned home. Dunno where Keith is, maybe TAFE, maybe work – who knows? Preparing for the inevitable I uncork a bottle of Turkey, slip Black Adder into the DVD player and slump down against the dirty white covers of Wilke’s couch. The titles start and images on the screen blur seamlessly into night, fear and loathing.