She's a trooper..

Lying on the bed, head propped up against some pillows,
she lies an old women. Around her the dimly lit ward filled
with lost faces, all of which tired and worn. And a smile creeps
across her face when we approach. Comfort she desperately
seeks, desperately needs. She squints through eyes that have
seen too much, and reaches out her hand to feel my touch,
and I squeeze back sending all the reassurance i can muster.
Her rough hands show hardship, her journey, her struggle.
She looks up through glazed eyes, longingly at the future
he has worked so hard for, which she now firmly grasps in
her hands, a manifestation of blood and flesh. She must be so
proud, that before her stood her mark on the world, a new world,
and her long nights of toil, when she worked through grit and bone
were never in vain.

And now it seems so clear what she was fighting for all along,
was for him, for me, for my family, for her family.

I love working in the bar, i really do. Surrounded by individuals with
strong personalities, each superstars in their own right. The flairing,
the customer interaction, drinking on the job and not to mention the
amount of flirting that goes with. But working these last 2 days at
powerhouse has made me realize that i really can't keep up with
working nightlife anymore. I'm dead tired, I've got cuts and bruises
all over my hands, I slept at 8AM after spending my whole night on
my feet running around for 10 hour work shifts and I burnt my entire
weekend. It just sounds plain crazy as to why ANYONE would do this.

ON the upside... The customers at Powerstation really seem to like me.
I got a lady's number on the first day at work, tonnes of customers who
gave me drinks and impressed the manager of Mos with my service.
Looks like i still got it.. ;)