THIS IS ONLY A JOB.

July 17, 2007

I wrote this one after a string of calls that blurred together in the worst kind of way—ugly scenes, tired faces, and that hollow, automatic voice I started using just to get through the night. I remember finishing the shift and sitting in my truck, not ready to drive, not ready to go home, just done. Someone had told me earlier that week, “Don’t take it home—it’s just a job,” and it rattled around in my head like a loose coin. Just a job? Maybe for them. But for those of us who show up when things fall apart, that line never quite fits. Writing this post was my attempt to wrestle with that lie—to draw a line between surviving the work and being swallowed by it. This one came from deep in the trench.