Work. The thing you dread but it also keeps you going. The safety of routine.
Getting up too early. Going to bed too late. No time for fun. No voice of your own. You are a robot, programmed to do the will of your managers and bosses.

This is why it’s good to work under the table for as long as possible. Be an office gopher.

So here is my story.

My name is Maggie. I have some sort of biblical- colonial name. Magdelyn Edith Parrington. My brother Gideon had the worst trouble out of the three of us. I think my parents are sadists to be honest.
Back to work. I’m 24, and a social outcast due to my name. I’ll stop. In any case, I am an intern (nice way of saying office bitch). I’m going for my 19th degree, at least it seems that way. I have so much to do these days it is insane.

I work at a law office full of Polish names I can neither spell or pronounce. It’s been a month since I’ve been here. Two months to go. I am counting the days.
I enjoy my chosen line of work, and I enjoy money even more. I just hate THIS PLACE. I hope no one sees this. This is just one of those things I need to write before my cycle of going mad is complete.
I reside in a glorified closet. It’s filled with clothes. And kitties. I spend half my day questioning why I got the cats in the first place, and the other half neurotically checking my clothes for fur.
My job seems to consist of doing whatever needs to happen. There is no rhyme or reason to the tasks I have to perform. That mixed with the befuddling disorganization of the place leads me to involuntarily twitch. Perhaps it is not that serious, but it feels that way at times.
I get there at 8, leave when I can escape. My way home is a mess of darting across never-ending streets and climbing the flights up to my fourth floor walkup.Then feeding my cats and cleaning up after them. I usually plop some frozen thing into the oven and stare at the TV. I’m lucky if I get into bed before 11.
So this is my life for an unidentifiable period of time. Odd as it may seem, I don't think about it too much. I'm too busy. So busy it fills the space in bed next to me, making me forget I am indeed alone. Excluding the two purring cats who refuse to acknowledge me.