I'm getting sick of my work in the office. Well, it would have been fine ("fine", as in "okay, average" and not "great") if it wasn't for my father, who also happens to be my boss. And having a boss who blows up because of a temper isn't so great when coming with the small fact stated above. I don't know why I even got myself into this. I remember clearly the day when I had told him that I wouldn't be taking the offer. And where am I now? I need to get out and find my own way, but I'm afraid that I can't see that path.

I want work that deals with music and art, but I've lost those skills to atrophy because of this work and my relationships. I could go back to doing those things, but at what cost? The circumstances I'm in won't allow it. The world where my environment revolves in frowns upon such things that "do not make money". And they say I'm an undisciplined worker. So sue me if I want to become a wandering bard. Heh. (Speaking of writing, I've not written any poetry. Only some stories that I can't post here. No, it's not adult material. It's an old poem I wrote for a friend of a friend's debut)

Perhaps this stoic character just needs someone to take off the imaginary shackles.

PS

Thanks for the new avatar Xergille. The sly grin fits me perfectly. Haha.