The lights were so bright my eyes started to water. How can people stand to work under fluorescent lights if they can’t see straight? I debated on how long I could work in an office building considering I had nothing going on with my life.
My parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t start leaving the house. They didn’t seem to care what I did as long as I didn’t do it in the house. What they didn’t know was the fact I was working from the house, but they never believed me. Somehow, being a writer and an artist didn’t mean anything. An ‘official’ job and paycheck was all that mattered. Apparently. I was making a fine living selling my art and had been looking to move out within the next three months, but here I was, at a dead end job not doing anything productive.
But I also knew if I could squeak it out until I saved enough for the deposit, I would be free. I knew I could be successful and to do that I needed to not be chained to a desk from 9-5. If I had only known my parents plans then, I would have moved out much sooner. But never in a million years did I think they could throw me under the bus as they did. Never did I think they could force their child to do something so atrocious. Never again will I pay my bills on time.