Something Else

Something Else

Something Else

There’s something wrong with you, she said. I know, I said.  The Johnson deal is in trouble.  Not because it should be, but because it just is. The deal is killing me, I tell her. I can actually feel it shoving me closer to death.  The buyer thinks the seller is up to something and the seller thinks the buyer is being disingenuous and with every imagined slight my life is pulsing closer to its end. With every Sunday morning phone call, and every text “UPDATE???”  Are those multiple question marks absolutely necessary, I wonder.  I wake up early thinking about this deal and I go to bed late thinking about it. I have no peace.  The stress is too much. I don’t really need the money, not bad enough to trade actual years of my life for it.   No, that’s not it, she says.  It’s something else.

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