Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
ANNIKA
It’s a Thursday evening. I should be sitting in my apartment, reading, watching a movie, or literally anything else besides sitting in my cubicle at work.
It’s after seven, and I’m frantically typing up a marketing outline for a new client we are hoping to get.
Even though I don’t care about this client, I’m still here after hours.
Because I was guilted into staying longer.
I want to be promoted so I can make more money and work less.
My manager dangled this promotion in front of my face when she asked me to stay after and finish the draft that we will present tomorrow.
Everything was last minute, and the worst part of it is, this client isn’t even huge.
They are an indie brand that has barely been gaining momentum.
Don’t get me wrong, I think they could totally use the marketing help, but it doesn’t need to involve me working overtime so we can present at the last minute.
I hear a buzz from my tote bag, and my heart drops. I had a scheduled client tonight for headshots, and I completely forgot. I grab my phone and swipe open my messages.
Client
Hi, I’m just checking to see if we are still on? I haven’t heard anything from you.
Annika
Hi, I am so sorry, an emergency came up. Can I reschedule you for tomorrow? Same time?
Client
Oh no worries. I hope everything is good, and sorry tomorrow doesn’t work. I think I’m just going to reuse my old headshots. Thanks
Annika
Of course. I’d be happy to give you a 30% discount, let me know if you change your mind.
I can’t afford to give the discount, but I also can’t afford to pass up this freelance work.
Especially if I want to get my own place.
I brought the idea up to Chloe two nights ago, and she nearly broke down in tears.
She said she couldn’t function if I was not sleeping at least ten feet away from her. And she calls me dramatic.
I finish up the outline and head out of the office.
The entire place is dark except for my cubicle.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending like I enjoy my life.
I’m so young, and yet I feel like my routine is aging me ten years.
I need a change. I start crying while I drive home and don’t stop until I’m home sitting at my desk.
Wiping my tears away, I fling open my laptop and panic apply for jobs.
This time, no marketing jobs. I am admitting to myself that I hate it.
I hate the major I picked for myself. I hate that I feel guilty that I spent this money on an education I don’t want to use, but I can’t let it tear me down.
I apply for photographer jobs, vintage shop curator jobs, and anything that sounds the slightest bit interesting. I even apply at a local tattoo parlor.
It’s nearly midnight, and I think I’ve applied to twenty applications.
I’m so exhausted. Mentally and physically drained.
I don’t even remember when I managed to take a shower and put on pajamas, but now I’m crawling into bed.
I hope I sleep through my alarm and don’t wake up until Saturday.
I don’t know how many more days I can take it before I just walk out of my job without any sort of backup plan.