On the nose? A bit.
All the wired men say that communication is key and expectations are divine, but all I have are “I think” and “maybe” and the certainty that I fear failure and I hate the person in the mirror. There’s also the nagging sensation that I am just a mass that needs to be cut loose. A benign tumor that has stopped being cute, supportive, or whatever it is they say about it.
Yes, on the nose. Let’s not.