I am constantly running away from something. Wake up in just enough time to get dressed and drive to work. Stare at the counter tops for 5 hours waiting for my shift to be over so I can go home and sleep. Choose my boyfriend's house over my own so I don't have to explain myself to my best friend or his father who hasn't said much since the disapproving lecture he gave me.

     Tell the boyfriend I should sleep at home tonight to dissipate the tension slowly building between my housemates when no one but me is actually home so I don't have to go through crying in a ball in front of him again. Try not to punch him out when he speaks like everything I am is a mood, a dark place I slip into rather than an entity I continuously am. What am I supposed to say when I'd prefer to watch him suffer next to me in a sliver of the rage and sadness I'm in over frolicking through fields of daisies and puppies holding hands or whatever it is happy people do?

     I put in my two weeks at work last Thursday. My boss took it professionally instead of giving me the same catty backtalk she gives to the other waitstaff. Granted, I am the only employee who shows up when she's supposed to and doesn't complain when she consistently has to stay an extra forty-five minutes until the others show up or when her check is shorted on hours or when the way I'm supposed to cut the vegetables and make the espresso changes every day or when I show up to a completely revamped menu. I keep my head down and my mouth shut both because I don't feel like dealing with the backlash and because I don't care enough to change conditions I would feel like staying around for.

     There's so much bullshit in the work realm I don't even feel like repeating. I focus on it every waking moment enough. It's pathetic that this is my existence. I am stooping so much lower than my intellectual station every goddamned day. Yes, I am condescending and I'm sure as hell a pretentious fuck, but I'd rather be surrounded with those kinds of people to hate than the half-witted customers and suburban parents I have around now.

     The only thing keeping me from dying is the continual daydream I've had since I was six of running. Go to work, flip my shit, empty the register, quietly slip into and out of my house with bags or boxes in my wake and drive with all I have left. Sell the car when there's nothing left for gas and hike into god knows where. I'd end up dead in a week or the happiest goddamned hobo you'd ever seen.

     I don't know. Fuck it.