There is something that repulses me about my boss

I can’t hold it against her

I don’t even know what it is

All I know is, that I want to get away from her.

When she is polite, it’s worse.

She giggles about some witty dialogue in a meeting,

while I think about blowing my brains out.

It’s like the seconds are being strangled

I don’t say this out of any meanness

I’m sure that she is a good person

I wish I could enjoy her, and we could be colleagues

but the same feeling is overwhelming

anytime

we occupy the same space.

This feeling goes for most writers I read

or the people I listen to on podcasts, speaking of their success.

Now, this is dangerous territory for me

when I tell my dad I don’t like Stephen King.

“Sure, I like his ideas, and I like the movies, but his books are too big. I end up getting lost in his story and stop reading.”

My dad looks at me with raised eyebrows, like it’s obvious I’m jealous of him, or something like that.

I don’t care. I just know that he depresses me, eventually, and I’ve read his book On Writing ten times.

There’s some good advice in there, but his writing doesn’t hold up.

I want to be him, but only for his success.

The writing is a whole other matter. It doesn’t speak to me at all. It makes me cringe.

Now, I feel this is a fair statement because many editors have told me my writing makes them cringe,

and I can see why they would say that, which makes me smile.

“I send my stuff to feminist publishers,” I tell my mother, “And I get the most interesting rejections.”

“You have a strange sense of humor, Andy” she tells me.

Maybe, I have lost it, and I’m not even trying to find it.

I could get a job that pays me twice as much money, but I don’t.

The reason is, my life isn’t for sale. The thought of being paid for my time is horrific.

Would you trade a year of your life for a million dollars?

People do it all the time at jobs, but they are caught between starvation and madness.

My friend just got a really good job

and he wants to buy expensive things with his time.

All I want is my freedom

and the ability to do it well, whatever that might be.

Most people and most things

sicken me.

I have to limp along until I find salvation.

Usually, the things that give me a sense of myself

are free,

but they always take my time,

and I give it over, willingly.