The North End

Like two ruddy deers of the northland, you and your manager did the dance of hooves and the flash of pointed antlers, leaving you bloodied and submitting a letter of resignation. Can there be any victories, however small, against pure, unadulterated power? Only morale ones.

Maybe you’ve found your focus; maybe your on the cusp of a new mental regime.

But the pain of time committed, hours ground to dust, and the recollected joy that came with the moments of delayed gratification from going above and beyond the required task now linger like a phantom limb. It’ll take time to bury the demons. Throw dirt on ’em, dance on the grave, twist your head towards the rising sun and know that this is life’s blessing: every morning’s wake is a chance to either build on yesterday or, more importantly, to be someone new.