I shouldn’t be here. The smell of freshly-printed paper should be replaced with an aroma of coffee, the bright screens with an old book. I look outside and see the tall office buildings, row after row of desks and chairs and squeaky shoes and fake smiles. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it all. I don’t want to be here. I can’t be here. I should be looking out at the ocean. I should be smelling the salty air, feeling the cool breeze.
I want to take walks on the pier and sit in parks beside the water, the sound of seagulls dancing in the sky and the sand between my bare feet. Days spent in cafes and nights spent in a crappy three-room house with annoying folks. I look away from the window and see my boss staring at me, staring at nothing. It’s now or never. I mouth the words “fuck you” and flip him off. I leave the hospital, leave him staring in awe. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m leaving everything for nothing. Or maybe I’m leaving nothing for everything. Either way, it feels so damn great.
