Another Day, Another Dollar

The zoloft seems to have helped somewhat, but I'm beginning to think there isn't anything in the world but a frontal lobotomy to cure me of the stress I feel at work.

It's 90 degrees, sunny and breezy outside. I am sitting at my desk staring at cinderblock walls painted about 15 years ago (meaning they are dripping with 15 years of goo and dust) painted robin's egg blue. The vent above my head is blowing a fake cold breeze down my back, the fluorescent lights are beating down on my face and the drop ceiling is crumbling into my hair. If I do walk across the building to get a glimpse of outside, my view is of the barbed wire fence surrounding the parking lot with 6 inch weeds growing up through the cracks. Eight hours a day, everyday, this is my reality. Not to mention the suppliers screaming at me day in and day out.

Its hard to work, I have visions of being at home on the boat in my head. I actually have gotten away with doing almost nothing today. I can't; the minute I got in my car this morning my mind went blank. I drove to work like the car was on auto pilot.

What really makes it tough is.... if I were home right now, I would be sitting my the pool having rum runners delivered to my lounger, I would hear the seagulls and the boats going by in the background and it would be sheer heaven! How can I work under these conditions.

Most people try and tell me what a charmed life I have. Sure it may look like that to the average observer, but I know I go through 8 hours of hell a day, I have to have a place as wonderful as that to go home to!! To be honest, living on the boat is the only thing that can erase what I go through each and every day at work.