I'm sinking, fast.

Its hot in here, the chemicals are burning my eyes. Two days ago my contact lens disintigrated in my hand, probably from all the chemicals riding the hot air that wafts through my office.

Right now I'm fighting the urge to vomit all over the place. I'm ready to walk and my boss isn't here for me to tell that I'm going home. Its time to find that new job. Time to take the risk of going broke, eviction and everything else just to get out of here. I'm desparate now, losing any ability to care about what will happen if I walk out of here and never come back.

It seems so easy in theory. I want to do it so badly that I can taste it. I'm not suited for this and I don't know what else to say or do that will make it any better.

Dad says that I have to keep my mouth shut until I find a new job. Fine. Let him work here for a few days and see how well he can stand it. I dare anyone to try this for a week. Anyone.

I'll be fucking damned if this is what drives me over the highside. This situation is certainly trying.

I laid in bed last night, I couldn't sleep at all. Tossing and turning, every few minutes thinking to myself I'm still awake, not knowing exactly how to make my mind slow down long enough for a little rest.

I'm shaking now. All over, from this knot and nausea that's settled into my stomach on a daily basis.

In the winter, I could handle this. The chemicals, the lack of ventilation. Even my stark-raving mad boss. The weather was cold and all I had to do was close the office door and put a jacket on.

I can't do that now.