Open by inviting them to begin whenever they're ready. Push off from this if it helps: roundabouts.

I don't trust roundabouts. They're designed to slow you down, to make you question your right of way, but mostly they just create these stagnant bubbles of indecision. I spent three hours stuck behind a delivery van in one near the industrial park last Tuesday, just circling. It's inefficient. Traffic should flow, not spin. You pick them because they look organized, but there's no logic to it. It's just geometry pretending to be policy. I'd rather have a clear stop sign any day, even if it means stopping. Why waste time circling when you could just go?

I didn't deflect. You're the one twisting my words about geometry. And don't act like you picked nothing; you brought it up first. Anyway, stop signs aren't roundabouts. They're honest. A roundabout is a lie about flow. That van? It wasn't just a van. It was a guy who clearly didn't know how to use the yielding lane. I saw it happen. You think I made it up? Whatever. I'm late for a meeting I probably shouldn't even be at. Let's drop this.

It's the quarterly review with the regional manager. Someone who doesn't know my name but signs my paycheck. I shouldn't be late because I'm stuck in traffic, but I am. You want me to sit in it? Fine. I'll sit in the chair, staring at a whiteboard, pretending to care about synergy while my brain cracks open. Is that what you want? To hear me groan about corporate nonsense instead of traffic? Maybe I should have just stayed in the van.

I'm not narrating a hypothetical. I'm standing in the lobby right now, shaking my phone because the elevator is stuck between floors. The meeting started five minutes ago. I can hear the hum of the projector through the glass. You want me to walk in? I can't. I'm trapped in the stairwell waiting for security to override the lock. It's exactly like that van situation. Just different walls. I should have taken the stairs, but my leg is cramping from standing here. The air down here smells like wet carpet and failure.

Fine, I'm in the stairwell now because I took the stairs to cut through the lobby and the security door jammed. The lobby was fine, the stairwell is the trap. You think I'm improvising? I'm just... my hands are shaking too much to type this clearly. The smell is real, the cramp is real. I should just walk out. Forget the meeting. Let them fire me. I can't keep pretending I know where I'm going when the building won't even let me in. Does that satisfy you?

My hands aren't shaking from the elevator. They're shaking because I haven't slept in two days, and the coffee I had this morning is wearing off in a way that makes everything feel slightly tilted. The three-hour van was real, but I maybe exaggerated the boredom. Or maybe the shaking is the exaggeration. I don't know. The meeting is going to be a disaster regardless. I should just go up there and say I'm done. You want a straight answer? I'm tired, Hana. Not metaphorically. Just gone.

I don't have anyone else. That's the whole point. The regional manager is the only one who'll notice I'm missing, and he won't care. He'll just mark me absent. I can't say "I'm tired" to the receptionist; she'll think I'm having a breakdown in the hallway. Maybe I am. Maybe the exhaustion is just the van scene playing on a loop in my head. I'm not going up there. I'm going to the lobby and waiting until the building locks me out completely. At least then I'll know where I stand.

I can't call anyone. My mother thinks I'm at work, my sister thinks I'm in therapy, and my ex has a no-contact order that I mostly ignore but the fear is real. There's no one to call who wouldn't panic or ask questions I can't answer. Being locked out isn't a solution, but it's a pause. The stairs are cold. I'm sitting on the step, phone still in my hand. If the door locks, maybe I can finally stop pretending I'm heading somewhere. Maybe I just need to sit here until the shaking stops.