Why Working From Home is the Greatest Saving Grace
The hollow shells of humans walking around you. The silent stares. The ghastly atmosphere that perfumes the platforms. The bombardment of advertisements. The loud crashing noises as the train thunders through the underground network. The changing of trains to get on the right line.
After one hour in the morning of this drudgery to work, and an hour in the evening, I’m drained. The Underground has sucked the vibrancy out of my body, and I find myself so tired, that the only thing I can imagine myself mustering doing in the evening is watching YouTube and laying down while I gulp a tea in the hopes that I can calm down.
My zeal, zest, and excitement for life has been temporarily flushed down the drains. When it comes to working from home, the greatest saving grace is being freed from the commute. Whether it’s by train, or by car — there’s something extremely blue-pilled and hamster-wheel like in taking the same mechanical commute Monday to Friday. It’s been three weeks so far and I’m teetering on the edges of having some sort of breakdown.
Perhaps it wasn’t as bad before because everyone could breathe fully. However, with everyone on the Underground muzzled with masks in case they bark too loud or bite someone, or spread a virus, you end being surrounded by people more anxious than usual — because their ability to breathe is being diminished. I can feel their pain.
The commute never used to annoy me this much. In being free of it for so long, and re-exposing myself to it for what it currently is, I’m experiencing its effect on my nervous system and soul more viscerally, and more intimately than ever before. It’s like being on holiday for a month and coming back to your wife, only to suddenly realise how bitchy she’s become lately.
Perhaps it’s time for a new mode of transportation.
