Someone shit on the floor in the bathroom where I work. Seriously. Someone shit on the fucking floor. And it’s my job to clean it up. Fuck. This isn’t worth minimum wage, I think. But then I clean it up anyway. I wear gloves but it still makes me feel like I need a hot shower. Need to wash everything. All of me. Because feeling dirty really brings out my OCD. I get stressed just thinking about having to drive home in my car without showering first. I feel like my hands are still covered in shit. I feel sick. But I suck it up and I finish my shift. Then I drive home in my car without showering first. And, finally, I clean myself off. I change into some fresh clothes. And I sit down at my desk. I take a breath. Then I tell myself that I’m going to quit that shitty job. This year I’m really going to do it. I tell myself that I’m going to finish my book, too. This year. This is the year that it will really happen for me. I tell myself it will. Only, I know that it probably won’t. Fuck a new year. It’s all the same shit.
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