I am sitting on the floor eating cold pad thai out of a plastic container and I have never been more furious in my entire life. The silence is the only thing keeping me from screaming at the top of my lungs. I finally have it—the stillness. No one is talking. No one is asking me for a "quick favor" or a "small edit" or a "moment of my time." Just the sound of the radiator hissing and me chewing. My legs are cramped against the cabinets because there’s no room for a table in this closet they call an apartment, and I just don't care. Things that happened today that made me want to set something on fire: 1. my car wouldn't start for my 6am delivery shift 2. the transcription client rejected my work because of "tone" as if I'm not just typing exactly what they said 3. I realized my health insurance "plan" is just me praying I don't get hit by a bus 4. Mark called to tell me he's "finding himself" in Portugal while I'm literally counting quarters for the laundromat 5. the sink is leaking again and the landlord won't pick up the phone Mark had the nerve to say I’m "too focused on the grind" like it's a personality trait I chose. I didn’t choose it. I didn't choose any of this. I’m working three jobs and trying to finish this degree and every single day I wake up feeling like I’m already ten miles behind. Every single day. Every day. He’s out there drinking wine on a balcony and I’m here calculating if I can afford the extra two dollars for tofu. I hate him. I actually think I hate him. I hate that I let him think his "pursuits" were more important than mine just because he has a trust fund to fall back on. I spent four hours today writing copy for a brand of organic dog treats. Four hours.