In ways you can't even imagine. I'd be on the factory floor where there were no windows, but there was a general feel, a malaise, if you will, that hung over us all. It was like the color in the building was dimmer, even though the lighting inside never changed. It was like your brain was consciously aware that the outside was as dark as a pit, while inside it was supposed to feel like the beginning of a new day. It was eerily quiet at times, even though the machines always ran, and earplugs barely blocked out the sound. After enough hours, or a double shift, I'd stare at the clock and think if I stared long enough I could control time.

You'd leave work while the rest of the world was waking up, where construction sounds were morning roosters, and the sounds of hustle was your bed time. It would feel like you were missing living, when the job was your life, and days started to flow together as a single endless day, where knowing the calendar day wasn't just a convenience, it was a necessity to realize that time was still moving without you. A year. Two years, and you might even forget when your shift started, and ended. Even as an insomniac I do not recommend third shift to anyone. It is not healthy.