Having a hard time going to work.

I work very hard.

I think this is my problem.

I was raised to think that it was a plus, but then again, I've seen my parents work hard and struggle because of it for years.

People at work expect you to give as little of a damn as they do. They expect you to schmooze and laugh and waste time like they do. They expect you to have long conversations about nothing while the phone rings off the hook and the office is buried in paperwork.

They assume you think you're above them, you don't like them, whatever.

I get this terrible attitude off everyone I work with. They've started trying to set me up. Someone neglected to inform me that the money she took in was split over two orders because I had to tell the manager she hung up on a customer this morning.

I tried to keep her name out of it, the manager asked who it was.

I had to tell the manager, because the customer had to speak to the manager.

Doing my job makes it almost impossible to do my job. Catch 22.

I'm just sick of the eyerolls and the sniggers behind my back and the snide remarks just low enough that they know I'll wonder what they're saying.

I'm tired of the fact that I can't just come to work and do my job without the highschool drama and BS.

I don't need it.

I'm an adult, I have people to support and a daughter to take care of. I'm sorry if I don't have enough in common with you to let the office fall apart while we discuss the latest movies.

I can't afford the latest movies, and I guess maybe that means I should just give up on work like you have, since I don't get paid enough for this garbage, but like an idiot I've got this idea that it would be wise to move up in the company and not, you know, fail at life as it seems I'm destined to do.

I'm going to talk to the store manager about this tomorrow, see why it is everyone has decided to place bets on who can knife me in the back the fastest.

See why it's funny to everyone that I make some mistakes, like they did when they'd only been there five months. Like they do now, three years later.

Like all my plans, I'm sure this one will backfire fantastically.

Well, at this point it would be a relief, in a way, to get fired or have to quit. I want to stay home with my baby girl.

But I can't.

We're not making the rent.

The car that isn't even ours is falling apart.

The bills are overdue.

I smoke too much and I can't stop.

I go out drinking (it only costs me four dollars, tops), and look for good in humanity in a place where a lot of married men old enough to be my father keep offering to take me home after informing me that I'm a good person and they firmly believe in God and being honest.

I come home and I watch old episodes of Heroes because at least that makes some kind of sense to me, at least those people have motives and relationships that mean something and things to live for.

I know I have things to live for. I know. My daughter. My parents. My sister. The endless daily grind where I get to deal with people who want to see me fail so I don't make them look bad when that's not my intention at all (I would be so thrilled if one of them would, you know, pick up the phone once a day, maybe run a finance application, stock the floor so I don't come home looking like I tried to commit suicide by paper cut).

I'm just tired, and I'm frustrated, and I need some anti-depressants but I can't afford them and my parents would just tell me I'm being weak and stupid and costing them more than I'm worth.

Is there more to life than this? Am I ever going to escape and have my own life without having to worry that my family will starve because I left them?

I'm getting old.

Just not fast enough.