I hate my job, was all I could think as I sat down at my cluttered desk. Somewhere in my head, I knew that I needed to clear the clutter. Perhaps a clean desk would help me be more productive? The clutter was overwhelming, yet at the same time, I felt nothing about the stacks of paper that jumbled my desk.

Setting my phone down next to the computer, I looked at it, longing to play the hunting game I recently downloaded. The occupational therapist had said that games would help my brain heal. Games were good. It was the only time I stopped thinking. It stilled the constant chatter in my head. I could lose myself in the game.

Games didn't require me to try to remember dates or events from the past. Games didn't expect anything from me. Games didn't get offended if I crossed some social boundary that I didn't understand.

My hand itched to reach out – maybe just one more level? Would it really matter if I put off doing the month's end report for ten more minutes?

Glancing at the plain looking clock on the wall, I sighed wearily. There was no time to start the game, the month's end meeting was in twenty minutes anyway. Goddammit – I hate these meetings. Have I always hated these meetings? Searching back through the fragments of the past, I felt like I'd once enjoyed them.

I laughed out loud at the idea of me actually enjoying sitting in a dim stuffy office, in a button up shirt, and bullshitting with a bunch of dick suckers. The political bullshit that went on in these damn meetings pissed me off. It would just be another couple of hours of my life where I had to watch what I said so I wouldn't upset the delicate ears of the higher-ups. Like they've never heard a fucking swear word before. Fucking pussies, I thought to myself as I watched the second hand click away, almost like it was clicking away the seconds of my life. Every minute in the meeting room was wasting a minute of my life.

It didn't help that I struggled, now, doing the job I had obviously done so well before. Taking a deep breath, I pulled out the file with the end of the month figures on it. The numbers swam around on the paper. I knew what I needed to do with them and what they all meant. I remembered going through all the files and reports quickly, but now I actually had to work at it. My brain was already starting to ache, my eyes watering from staring at the papers in my hand.

I hate my job, I mumbled in my brain. I want to act. I want to look at a script and become that person. I want freedom.

Fuck this! I banged my fist on the cheap desk. Fuck this job.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the family picture Jessica had taken last year. I saw the four of us in it – I knew it was from last year because she told me. My hand snatched up the picture, and I stared down at it. I saw my face – I knew that it was my face – yet somehow, I didn't recognize it. No memory of that day came, no matter how hard I tried. All I saw were four people in a picture. People I didn't understand. People I didn't know. People that I had to provide for.

I quickly opened the desk drawer and slammed the picture into it. I didn't need any more pressure from them. Her eyes always seemed to follow me, judging me, reminding me that I wasn't who I thought I was, chiding me like I was an infant.

Jessica had made me late again, always nagging me in the morning about vitamins and reminding me of stuff like I was a retard. I'm not a damn idiot, I thought to myself. I don't need her to be constantly up my ass about everything. I fucking hate vitamins.

She'd taken every ounce of control from me. She had a say in everything. I couldn't even do the job I wanted because I had to take care of her and her damn kids. Our kids. Guilt washed over me. I felt something for my children, but something foreign.

I wanted control. I was tired of her having the say in everything. Slouching in the worn-out office chair, I scanned my brain for something I could control her with. My phone peeped from the desk where I had left it.

Make sure to take your vitamins with lunch. Also, if you need me, I'm going to be getting my hair done at Michelle's. Love you bunches, baby.

Nausea gagged my throat. I didn't want her damn love. After fishing out the baggie of vitamins she had put in my pocket, I threw the baggy in the garbage. Fuck her vitamins.

Go get your fucking hair done, bitch, while I sit here bored out of my fucking mind. Spend my hard-earned money.

Suddenly my brain clicked. Money. She was out there spending my money. I had to pay all the bills with the small portion I got from my paycheck every fortnight. I worked for that fucking money. She did nothing but sit around on her fat ass eating donuts. What had she done to deserve my money? She didn't even suck my dick anymore.

I felt my spine straighten, a small smile spread out on my lips. I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes till the meeting. Becky in human resources was on the way. I think it's time to take control of my money. If I have more control then maybe I can put enough away so I can quit this dead-end job and do something I enjoy.

After grabbing my phone, I quickly stood up and headed out. For the first time in days, I felt like something was going right. It was the first step to taking back control of my life.

I'll make sure she gets enough to buy groceries and has gas in her car, but the rest goes to me. What else does she need?