The Dark Room

The Dark Room

I’m 56. In a dark room. Alone and cold.

My hands are shaking. I can’t sleep for days. I need to complete an annual review for a new boss who doesn’t know me. The job description, after 40 years, suddenly requires “selling.” My body is shaking with fear and poison. I ask myself “Why am I doing this?” and “Who are on which tracks?” The obvious choice is obvious. Letter by letter, with a flashlight to help me see the keys, I resign as SVP whatever you want to call me job.

Then, the hard part. I need Lesley to help me and it’s in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, I start that way.