The days are growing shorter again. Another winter is approaching. My comrades say each year only gets darker. They’ve begun to ration our coffee intake. Something about our pulses being too fast and causing too much anxiety. I’ve tried to steal some and hide it with my stash of dark chocolate, shot glasses, and dreams and despair.
I don’t know when I’ll make it home again. When I signed on for this, they told me it would be four years. In and out. It seemed so doable. Now, I’m not so sure. August marked the end of the fourth year. There was no celebration. I did take a week of personal time, but I felt judged for leaving my desk.Read More