Bailey
How did everything spiral so far out of control?
I ask myself that question for the thousandth time, but I still don’t have a good answer.
At least I can lose myself in my work. After rotting in bed over the weekend, I’m relieved to escape my childhood home and my mom’s knowing, silent stare. I don’t have any of my scrubs with me, but I’m able to track down a clean change of clothes packed away in a box in my old closet. My shoes are presumably still sitting in the hallway of the house I’d fled. I wasn’t about to go back to retrieve them, so I’ve settled on wearing a pair of borrowed flip flops.
One glance in the mirror reveals that I look more like I’m going to some backyard barbecue than a nursing night shift. Shame washes over me at the sight of my reflection. Professionalism
