…I was a wreck. Dishevelled, hair barely combed, unshaven. Pushing open the door, my hands were trembling. I saw this, but couldn’t control it.
I’d learned a lot about losing control.
Arriving at my cubicle, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t cry. Small victories.
Brian was staring, naturally shocked at my appearance. But what could I say? “I didn’t sleep last night. I was washing blood off the grill of my car, weeping.”
Sometimes honesty’s NOT the best policy.
So I mumbled about coming down with something, and turned toward my computer.
It was going to be a long day…