I can see clearly now my brain is gone

I can cry about my life, my family, my friends, my love life but I made an unspoken promise to myself never to cry about my career.

A job is a job is a job. Just a job.

But today, I almost broke that promise.

I stood on the third floor landing of the office building that I have made my home for several years now, held on to the metal railing and fought back hot tears.

Verdict's out. I might have to quit the free paper. I've taken on too much load, I'm spreading myself too thin. Job description's too messed up.

But I love the free paper. I love the people I work with in the free paper.

You know you love the people you work with when you enjoy hanging out with them even when you're not in the office.

And that's how it was with us. They were all at my last birthday party getting drunk, we were all together making memories in Puerto Galera, we have little food fiestas in our cubicle, hell, we even have a videoke night scheduled for next week.

There is a reason why the free paper's cubicle is the noisiest, why it's the source of the boisterous laughter that disrupts the silence of the newsroom. We make working fun. Really fun.

I am going to miss them. Miss them even more than I miss McDonald's milkshakes.

People have tried different approaches in making me feel better.

"It's not going to be the end of your friendship. You can still visit them..."

"It's for the best. They have more things planned for you."

Maybe so. But my heart is broken.

And I must not let it show. Couldn't let it show.

Because I've got other things to take care of, responsibilities to fulfill, sections to close.

I cannot believe I'm too busy to grieve.