A day like any other

It’s just a day like any other for most,
But I feel spent,
Hollowed out,
Drained.

Sitting on my couch,
The day already feels distant.
As Siouxsie sings Cities in Dust
On my turntable,

I think about how a day in the city
Settles heavily upon me.
The work itself isn’t always the problem.
It’s the effort of getting there,
And being there.

The constant expenditure
Of emotional energy.
Anxiety and doom-coping
Sap everything.
My mind keeps its guard up all day.

By afternoon,
When I breathe country air again,
I’m finished.
I drift back and forth
Across a fine line
Between tears and sleep.
Cities,
And people in large amounts,
Remain a burden I struggle to carry.

When did I become this whiny old bitch?
I have a good job.
A great team of colleagues.
Yet I still feel
Chewed up and spat out.
And I’m tired of it all.
But there shall be no rest.

Because,
It’s just a day like any other.