As flashes of the ghost of the week’s past come rushing back, I am here yet to say that reality was undeniable (and shameful).
Maybe there was something in the air (or probably in my pituitary glands), but I had morphed into that person, people felt the urge to punch in the face. When did the big switch start to happen? It was a gradual progression — like tears, that trickled on and on until you are sore enough to stop. For about a week, I felt (and acted) like litter, and hated every second of it.
I’m not going into details. Hey, here I am, back, derailed, and hopping permanently off the buzz train. Forgive and forget?