A blurb and a half.
Things could always be worse: the ditzy drizzle could have intensified into a torrential typhoon; that 10-minute traffic jam could have turned into a roller-coaster ride across town; the boss’s lengthy lecture could have been a quick kick out the door.
But this was like a 180-degree turn: a long-term relationship with dawn slowly replaced by a newfound fondness for dusk; a knowing switch from the always glorious west to the perpetually gloomy east; a freefall off the plank and deep into the darkest trenches of the ocean.
And no one even had to hold a gun to my head.
Maybe this is what a career suicide feels like.
Then again, putting things into perspective hardly matters when you are only still at day one, peering through the window with the naivety of a wide-eyed three-year-old, and wondering how much longer would it take for you to mindlessly fumble through the fog and miraculously emerge through the other side.
And if there is no other side, so to speak, well…
You said it would be painless, it wasn’t that at all.