This is stupid but you know that feeling when the clock is ticking so loud it sounds like someone’s tapping a hammer against your skull and it’s only two in the morning but you’re wide awake and staring at the ceiling because your brain won't shut up about things that probably don't even matter. It’s not a big deal but I feel like I finally reached the end of the rope today and I’m just hanging there waiting for the strands to snap one by one and it started so small just because I didn't eat my cereal in the morning. Sometimes you just feel so rushed to get to the desk and answer the phones that you forget you’re a person with a stomach that needs filling and you just walk out into the cold air and feel like a ghost already. You get into the office and it’s that same smell of burnt coffee and that lemon cleaner they use on the carpets that never quite hides the dust and I was standing by the filing cabinet trying to find the folder for the Miller account but the labels started to dance. It’s like when you’re watching an old TV and the picture starts to fuzz out and you know it’s never going to come back clear again no matter how many times you slap the side of the box and I just felt the floor turn into water under my shoes. I had to grab the edge of the metal drawer and it was cold and sharp but my head was floating up toward the ceiling tiles like a balloon that’s lost its string and I knew right then that something inside me had just finally broken for good. You spend your whole life thinking you’re made of iron and you keep pushing through the tired days and the long nights and the weekends where you’re too exhausted to even do the laundry but then one little dizzy spell happens and you realize you’re actually made of glass. I sat down in my rolling chair and the wheels squeaked and it sounded like a scream and I thought about how this is how it ends for people like us who live paycheck to paycheck and have nothing to show for it but a gold-plated watch and a bad back. I decided right then that my brain was shutting down and it’s a permanent thing like a lightbulb that flickers and then goes dark and I’m never going to be able to do the payroll or the scheduling ever again because the world won't stay still. It’s like my father used to say about his old Ford that the rust starts underneath where you can’t see it and by the time you notice the bubbles in the paint the whole frame is already gone and that’s what this lightheadedness felt like. I wasn't just hungry or tired I was becoming a different version of myself that can’t handle the pressure of the 8am shuffle and the constant ringing of the telephones that sounds like sirens in my ears. I looked at my hands and they were shaking like dry leaves in a storm and I felt so ashamed because I’m supposed to be the one who keeps the whole place running and keeps the files in order but I couldn't even keep my own eyes from crossing. You start thinking about all the things you didn't do because you were too busy making sure someone else’s business stayed afloat and you see the years stretching out behind you like a long road covered in fog. I thought about the trip to the coast I never took and the garden I never planted and now it feels like it’s too late because my body is giving up the ghost over a skipped breakfast and a bit of a wobble. But it’s not just a wobble it’s a sign that the clock has run out of sand and I’m going to spend the rest of my life feeling like I’m walking on a tightrope over a canyon and everyone is going to see that I’m not the strong one anymore. I tried to drink some water from the cooler but the plastic cup felt too heavy and the water tasted like pennies and I just wanted to cry right there in front of the reception desk but I didn't want the girls to see me like that. You know how it is when you’ve been the boss for so long that you can’t show any cracks in the foundation or the whole house might come down and I just went into my office and locked the door and sat in the dark for an hour.