Seniority Is a Beautiful Thing

Seniority Is a Beautiful Thing

🌼 Date: Wednesday, August 26, 2026

⚡ Energy: Bid day and cautious hope

💖 Status: Six-hour early morning route secured

🙂 Outlook: Health first, nap second, everything else can wait

Today was bid day.

And let me just say this:

Seniority is a beautiful thing.

A beautiful, magical, glorious thing.

After everything this year has thrown at me, I was able to bid on the route I needed for my health.

Not the route someone else thought I should take.

Not the route that looked impressive.

Not the route that would keep me tied to work all day.

Not the route that would drain every last drop of energy from my body and then ask me to smile about it.

The route I needed.

For my health.

That matters.

I chose the six-hour early morning route.

So I will clock in at 5:30 a.m. and be done at 11:30 a.m. every day.

Done.

As in, go home.

As in, no split shift.

As in, no sitting around for hours between morning and afternoon routes.

As in, no being at work for 10 or 11 hours just to get paid for 8.

As in, no spending my entire day orbiting around a job while my body quietly falls apart in the background.

No thank you.

Denied.

Hard pass.

Tina 2.0 has different terms and conditions.

The old Tina could do those long days.

The old Tina did do those long days.

For years.

She showed up early.

Stayed late.

Filled in gaps.

Covered things.

Answered questions.

Pushed through.

Ate when she could.

Rested when there was time, which was basically never.

And somehow convinced herself that was normal.

Cancer changed that.

Cancer changed a lot of things, but one of the biggest changes is that I no longer confuse destroying myself with dedication.

That is not dedication.

That is a slow leak.

And I do not have enough air in my tires for that anymore.

This body is still recovering.

This body still needs rest.

This body still needs an afternoon nap.

And yes, I said needs.

Not wants.

Not “wouldn’t that be nice.”

Needs.

My body has made it very clear that rest is no longer optional.

It is part of the treatment plan, whether anyone wrote it on a prescription pad or not.

So this route gives me a chance.

A real chance.

I can work in the morning, do what I need to do, and then go home.

Go home to the puppies.

Go home to my recliner.

Go home to food I can actually eat.

Go home to quiet.

Go home before my body hits the red zone and starts flashing warning lights like a dashboard nobody wants to deal with.

That feels huge.

Now, am I a little nervous?

Absolutely.

Because six hours a day still sounds like a lot right now.

Especially after Callback week has already shown me that sitting in classes can make me feel like I ran a marathon.

Driving a bus takes energy.

Physical energy.

Mental energy.

Emotional energy.

You are watching mirrors.

Watching intersections.

Watching students.

Watching traffic.

Listening.

Reacting.

Planning ahead.

Checking everything.

Staying alert every second.

It is not just sitting there holding a steering wheel.

It is constant awareness.

Constant responsibility.

Constant “do not miss anything because these are children and a giant vehicle.”

So yes, I am hoping my body lets me do this.

I am hoping six hours is doable.

I am hoping I can build stamina.

I am hoping the early shift works with my energy instead of against it.

I am hoping I can come home, take my nap, recover, and do it again the next day.

Time will tell.

That is the annoying part.

Time always wants to tell.

I would prefer immediate confirmation, preferably in writing, with snacks.

But that is not how healing works.

Healing is trial and error.

Healing is listening.

Healing is adjusting.

Healing is admitting when something is too much.

Healing is not forcing the old version of yourself into a schedule your new body cannot sustain.

So we are going to try.

Six hours.

Early morning.

Home by 11:30.

Afternoon nap available.

Boundaries intact.

That is the plan.

And if my body says no?

Then we listen.

We do not panic.

We do not shame.

We do not call it failure.

We adjust.

Because the goal is not to prove I can do everything I used to do.

The goal is to live inside this body without breaking it again.

Today, though, I am letting myself feel grateful.

Grateful for seniority.

Grateful I got the route I needed.

Grateful I am not walking back into 10- or 11-hour days.

Grateful I have a chance to work and still protect my healing.

Grateful that Tina 2.0 is making choices the old Tina might not have allowed herself to make.

This is not the route of ambition.

This is the route of survival.

The route of boundaries.

The route of “I am still here, but I am not sacrificing myself anymore.”

And honestly?

That feels like progress.

Tiny Tina got the six-hour morning route.

Cancer did not get the final say.

Seniority did its job.

And the afternoon nap remains protected.

Amen.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time