The memory is still fresh like new pen on my hand. The world's funny sometimes. Funny like fucked up and stingy, not even close to laughter.

It's been a long night and my car is being whipped savagely with me in the back by psychotic wind and terrible branches.

Calm hasn't come over me yet. I feel sick to my very core and every instinct screams "get the fuck out, while there's still time!" But to no avail. I feel as though I am somewhat responsible to show up to my daily emotional beating. And why not. They are paying me to do a job, and I'd be little more than a shell after a time if I had no job... no use at all.

Jesus. Me with no use. I couldn't imagine. And yet, I am right on the cusp of that very notion.

...the mind recoils in horror.

Yes
No
Do nothing