Chapter One
I sit in my dull office chair, looking at my dull office work, in my dull office cubicle, at the dull office I’m just so fortunate to work at. I, long since arriving, have tuned out every bit of ‘office jib jab’ (I think the girl in the cubicle next to me made that term up) that bounces off the plain white walls, reverberating in the ears of middle-aged men and women who have, in the simplest terms, settled.
Settled for less than. Nobody dreams of working a 9-5 job where you, essentially, do nothing. People look for work that gives them some feeling of achievement like they’ve made the world a better place in one way or another like they’re making a difference in some way. But other than big corporations, who do sitting and typing all day help?
That’s the question I busied my mind with during my dull shift. Who does an office job help? Without the advancements we’ve made in humanity, we wouldn’t even have big corporations. If humans never existed, neither would office jobs, companies, keyboards, paper, ink, or bread. Sounds nice until you hear about the bread, right?
My shift, though long and monotonous, eventually came to an end. I turned on the radio as soon as I got into my car. Sure, I don’t particularly like radio music, but I don’t like silence even more. I’ve been ignoring the plethora of sound emitting from my phone. I know it’s my husband, and I know that whatever he wants, he could probably get on his own. Unless he’s having a heart attack…
The idea of my husband dying is not foreign to me. I’ve hoped and wished and manifested it for years. It’s yet to happen, though, the doctor said his weight is becoming a serious health problem. And no, I don’t want my husband to die because I want his money, I want him dead because the longer you’re out of love with someone, the more and more hatred you’ll feel towards them.
I would’ve gotten a divorce by now, if not for the kids. It’s me who makes this house, this family run, so it’s not fair for me to abandon this…nightmare? Most people, upon hearing that I consider my family a burden, are immediately defensive. “Well, you don’t know God’s plan, plus even if you don’t love your husband you have to love your kids, right?”
I don’t believe in god, I hate my husband, and I hate my kids. I hate most things about my dreadful life. There is just one thing, one joy, one escape that I have from this wretched reality.
I put my car in park and turned it off. I slowly wade my way away from reality. I realize I’ve involuntarily taken my shoes off and slid my toes into the soft, cool sand. The sun is beginning to set behind the horizon line of the beautiful stretch of water. Oh, how I’ve missed the water, its stunning waves crashing against the shore in such a rhythm that I lose track of time, lose my sense of self.
By the time I’m unlocking the door to my dysfunctional home, it’s already 1:08 AM. The house is quiet and dark, so much so that the flip of the living room light switch seems to echo throughout the house. The dark ebbs out of the house to reveal the mess. There’s trash everywhere, toys on the floor, stains on the carpet, and a new ash burn on my husband’s recliner.
If anyone knows anything about me, it’s that I hate mess. I set off to the kitchen, which is even worse than the living room. I tell myself that I’ll just wash the mountain of dishes, and then go to bed. That’s it, just the dishes.
I lay my head on my pillow at 5:48 AM, approximately 3 hours before I have to get right back up and start everything over again. I check over my entire day to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. I do this every night, and every night I feel like I’m forgetting something. Except for tonight, that feeling is stronger.
I ignore this, ignore my husband snoring, and ignore the smell of sweat coming from him. I slowly close my eyes, drifting off to the darkness of my subconscious, dreading the alarm that I know is about to blare through my eardrums and wake me from peace once again.
