Two cities. Two sets of regulars. Two different energy zones. Sometimes I wonder why I do this split between Cardiff and Swansea, then I remember rent doesn't pay itself.
The drive is about an hour. Sounds simple. It's not. Each city requires a different version of me. Cardiff wants polish, performance. Sharp heels, sharper conversation. Swansea wants something softer. More intimate. Less performative.
My car becomes a transition space. Between personas. Between economic realities. I change earrings at the services. Small ritual. Shake off one city's expectations, prepare for another.
Burnout hovers. Always. Some weeks I'm running on caffeine and muscle memory. Other weeks I'm present. Alive. Choosing this work not just surviving it. Those are the good weeks.
My regulars know the drill. They understand I'm not always available. That geography and mental bandwidth matter as much as scheduling. Smart men, mostly. They get it.
Recovery looks like quiet mornings. Good coffee. Staring at the Swansea bay. Remembering I'm more than the service I provide.