At least I don't have to wear that funky suit.

The steps taken are small, light and nary a sound. Heat? Unbearable. Imagine seeing your skin peeled, no, flayed before your eyes. Ironic that it's burn-proof material. My breaths are short and reek that is my own mouth is starting to nauseate me. But I cannot not be 100% focused. I just can't. I reach for the garbage strewn all over the ground and push them away. Colourful wires connected to a device that could blow me and the neighbourhood  to smithereens sat there ominously as though I was dared to cut them one by one.

I do.

Sweat is running down my face, the salty taste a reminder that I need a drink later. My earpiece crackles, I hear a command issued to me to get my ass back right this instant. As I'm walking back to the Humvee, I see hands waving at me. The visor limits my visibility considerably and so I walk faster. Another crackle and command yells at me, telling me that there's a suspicious-looking guy with what looks to be a remote detonator and that they can't get a good shot as the guy is running too fast. My heart is pounding so fast I think I might explode. I run as fast as I can in this godforsaken suit. 100 yards later and a mushroom cloud erupts behind me, throwing my body like a rag doll. While the blast echoes in my ears, deafening me and my cry, darkness takes over and the last thing I see is the scorching sun and smoke...

That's how I would imagine being a bomb expert. While I reckon The Hurt Locker and my current position are miles apart, I can relate to its stress, without the threat of loss of life, naturally. One tiny mistake, a miscalculation, even pressing the button that may or not determine the next second of your life, all that I can relate to. Sure, the drama and the high-tension are nowhere the level of such, however, the events of the past few weeks could be summed up with the above description. 

An explosion of the senses and mind.

This is not the first time I have kicked a fuss about my job but the past few weeks have been rough, to put it softly (do you see the pun?). If I had an out-of-body experience I'd try to kick my corporeal ass myself. Is this the path that will lead to greatness? I surely hope so, otherwise a 30-year-old me is going to be sorely disappointed (but, hopefully, wealthy). It also doesn't help that the old workplace also misses me. It was such a beautiful time. I truly miss it.

Just like how you will never forget your first love; you will never forget where your career took off*.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: The Hurt Locker was all right. Yes, just all right.

* - Only, that the first real job I had happens to be the best place where one can be. If you're planning to loaf about immeasurably, watch countless Youtube videos and having the best lunches ever then the old workplace is the place for you.