His mind was on fire. Not literally, because he would have died, but figuratively.
He needed sales. Lots of it. But he had reached the end of his target period. The end of financial year, the fourth quarter, which his company followed, ended on a weekend, dampening his spirit, leading to anxiety creeping up slowly, steadily building up inside his body, and because he had sworn to be away from cigarettes, on the ninth day of his cigarette fast, he felt the most incredible urge to smoke, an urge as powerful as the strongest wind, the mightiest storm, the brightest star. Even deep breaths weren’t helping, his future lay on the line, since everything depended on his review meeting that was slated for next week.
Weirdly, amazingly too, somewhere deep inside his mind, an area that had probably been dormant since he was born, gave him a sense of confidence, an inkling, that somehow, something was possible, like a small creeper that needed to be gained hold of, catapulting him into the deep end of the corporate world. Sins hoped what he was feeling would transpire into action, because, he had made a few mistakes as well, some major ones that had led him to be screamed at, even judged, leading to a perception that he was dumb, or worse stupid, which he wasn’t. The problem was, he didn’t know what was wrong with him, not that, he was avoiding responsibility by blaming some other circumstances in his life, when the fact was that he took complete ownership of his life, all his mistakes and achievements. He had never been the blaming type, preferring instead to calmly pondering over the next course of action, which was the most sensible thing to do.
Sins knew he would be fine, irrespective of the review being mediocre or negative. He would make sure to be prepared with a list of things he had done correctly to account for all his incorrect ones, some major, some minor. He would have to show the sales conversations that he had in the pipeline, to justify his predicament of not having bought any business to the firm on his own feet.
Sins liked to be pushed, and he wanted to be so, because it would mean he would need to get out of his comfort zone in order to get things done. It boiled down to his psyche, the way he behaved about with people and showed them that he cared, that he respected them and would be available when they needed to get some things done for them according to what his capacity permitted.
So much depended on Sins, garnering the approval of his colleagues, that sometimes Sins wondered if it was already too late and he were fighting a loosing battle, but he shrugged these self-defeating thoughts away, like swatting away an irksome fly, because he resolved, no matter what, no matter how down and out he became, or was lead to become, he would not loose hope and keep fighting, forging ahead something, somehow from somewhere and survive, to thrive.
So thinking, he began executing push-ups, on the floor of his office, now bereft of his colleagues, who had long retired for home, in full anticipation of the weekend, leaving him to account for his own actions, which was fair in retrospect. Meticulously, slowly, deliberately feeling each strand of muscle on his chest contract and expand till he was done with twenty-five, he goaded himself back to his laptop, to come up with a few ideas that he could think and strengthen his case for a new employment contract.
And retain the laptop.