I remember a time in my life when I felt like I was the only person in my circle of friends who really had it together.
When my friends were broke, I wasn't; when their apartments were messy, mine was always spotless. I always woke up early, was always prepared, was always so excited about what was going to happen later.
Now I honestly think I would be content to live in a potting shed with dirty windows and a gravel floor if it meant I wouldn't have to go to work anymore.
I remember being 19 and thinking I'd had my heart broken. I was lying in bed looking at the cracks in my ceiling, wondering how on earth anyone could possibly be sad for more than a day. I looked down at my lily-white feet as I placed them on the cold, hardwood floor and I did what any person should do after 30 minutes or so of crying: I stood up and I carried on.
I am the little engine that could.
If anyone had told me two years ago when I was in college - internship with a publishing company, hired by said company, taking honors courses, tutoring children in Latin - that I would be working at a soulcrushing cubicle job feeling smarter than nearly everyone around me but being treated like an idiot - I would have laughed. I would not for a moment have believed them.
What am I so afraid of?
People are bewildered and it's honestly embarrassing. Sometimes they just smile. Sometimes they ask.
I stir my drink and I say, "it's my health insurance job; there just isn't enough freelance work coming in" but that's bull.
I was offered a job and I was worried about security; I was offered another job and I didn't want to move to that city. This is really not that complicated; if you don't like your job, if you feel degraded every day, if you feel yourself growing stupider and less creative by the moment: RUN.
I am really so dramatic.
