.36.

I'm sitting here, Monday morning, nearly frozen with fear of having to go into work.

Now because I screwed up and am afraid of my job, but simply because it's something that I don't want to do. I can't stand the nerve-grinding work of sitting in front of a computer for an hour while my boss talks on the phone, wondering if I'll get a chance to work on the bookkeeping like I'm supposed to today or if I'll be sent off on some other mundane task that our other girl can do, except he never calls her in for whatever reason.

I just don't want to be in there for 8 hours, hating being there when I could be doing something better.

Perhaps if I had saved up my money I could take off for a few months, though really, I think I'm afraid that I'll never leave this place.

I'm being groomed to take the whole thing over. Given incentives to remain there (money) and learn how to run it. And I'm letting myself give in to this. Making myself more available, more helpful. If I was a rotten employee I'd be traded in for the next shiny thing that knows how to use the internet and can actually talk to people. And doesn't have visible tattoos and a mohawk.

But instead I'm a valuable resource. An honest person who knows how to do business and work the internet and fix computers and whatever I don't know I can hire someone for a few hours a day to do for me.

All I want to do is be an artist. I just want to sit at home and hustle up some assignments then work on them all day and night. I want someone to save me from this life I fought so hard to get away from but that drags me deeper and deeper into it everyday.

Other people say I shouldn't complain about having "job security."

They don't know what it's like to have fulfillment in their life that doesn't have a direct relationship with their wallets.

I want to work to get out of here. I can't do this anymore. And I'm afraid that the next time I write in here, I won't have moved an inch.