I just finished clearing my desk, packing dozens of books and whatnot in a single Milo carton. The box says “store in a cool and dry place.” I guess, I have to take it with me tonight because tomorrow, the words “cool” and “dry” will not be popular here.

Around 50 people will go to the chopping block tomorrow. Just like those who went before, and those who went before them.

Except this time, everyone has to go. No exceptions.

We just lost our jobs. The company, which served as a my life’s point B (with our house being point A) for five days a week for a year and a half, finally decided to call it quits.

(Not sure how to handle this, I guess putting this one to writing can give me perspective. After all, this is my first job that compels me to clock in, render 8 hours of work, and clock out.)

To say that it is a tough day for some of the people here will be an understatement. Some of them, who have been here since day one, invested more than half a decade of their lives here, swaying gracefully to the violent winds that tried to blow them away. After all, how will you expect a person, who has been here for far too long, that he’s going to lose his job? In a day’s notice?

It’s like decapitation. Humans, for centuries, believed that severing the head from the body will grant a person a swift and painless death. However, how can we be sure that a person’s is fully devoid of senses after beheading?

So what happens next? What happens to them? What happens to me? No one knows actually, but I didn’t come to this point unprepared. “The Man Without A Plan” actually has a plan, a bit of a contrast to who I was a year and a half ago.

There’s a bright side to this, actually. Hey, at least I’m leaving the office with more than 50 books. The only problem I should have tonight is hauling this Milo box to a cab.