For the first time, the end of this hellhole looks visibly within my reach.
Eight nights. That’s how long I haven’t slept before 12 noon in the fraakin’ afternoon. That’s the number of all-nighters I’ve been pulling, saved only by four-hour naps in the afternoon. That’s how long I have been jabbing at my laptop, my eyes pleading for sleep and dark circles threatening to eat them poor eyes whole.
You don’t poop unicorns and rainbows when you’re merely happy. You poop multicolor, dayglo mythical creatures of every kind when cold, hard relief washes through you. And you think, dang, I can wing this. I can.
Thank You. Really.