I'm sitting here in my bedroom, mindlessly scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed. In the back of my mind is the nagging reality that in just a few hours my freedom will come to conclusion, that my joy will be spoiled by time constrains and all the other evils that come with this profession. I ponder about how my day will go. I begin to feel uneasy at the thought of reliving past nightmares, and my heart races just thinking of my impending hours of doom. My mind contemplates all the possibilities. A drug addict patient that saps my energy and time, rendering other patients with less care. Perhaps being understaffed and experiencing that anxiety that I will never catch up, that time has become my nemesis. Perhaps it'll be the kind of day that my patience will be challenge by unruly family members. Perhaps it will be day I am not able to adequately nurture my body the nutrients it needs. Perhaps it'll be the type of day where all I can do is let the tears stream down in the solitude of the restroom. Perhaps it'll be the kind of day where my lack of time is translated to patient as lack of care. Perhaps it'll be the day that all my walls come closing in and that my skies fall and I say enough is enough and leave this profession forever - that situation is my most feared. Hunger and the need for a roof keeps my torture alive, and my torture keeps me alive.