I like to lick my wounds. Replay the story over and over again. I wake up thanking that it didn’t appear in my dreams. “What have I done wrong?” “How can I get a revenge?”, “Should I change the way I dress?”, “Did I boss them around too much?”, “Others experience this rejection too”. I watch my wounds, but not in a healthy way. I moan about it. I imagine myself telling others the story. I imagine their reactions. I think about the future now based not the recent events. I fear the possibility of moving out. Before I know, the tiny rain escalated into this giant hurricane, and it hurts just to think of being myself and work. I don’t want to wear the same coat that day I wore, because it reminds me of how unfair it is. I can’t open my door, get out to have breakfast…