Glengarry Kubler-Ross.
I worked through denial in an eyeblink. It was happening in real-time and in front of my eyes. I don’t deny those things.
Anger, as usual, I stuffed into a colored glass bottle, covered with a cork and melted wax, and placed on the shelf next to the rest of the wick-less Molotov cocktails I’ve collected for the past decade or so.
I didn’t bother to bargain. The sign in the window said that all prices were as marked and all sales were final.
I’m either in depression or acceptance right now. Maybe I’m accepting my depression. Maybe my acceptance is depressing. Maybe the impression of my depression is the exception of my acceptance.
Maybe I’m engaging in cloying wordplay as a defense mechanism.
I was fired earlier today.
Welcome to Disasterville: Population, You.
Creative Control 