I can’t do this anymore. I just… can’t. It’s 2 AM, kiddo’s finally asleep, partner’s snoring next to me, and I’m just staring at the damn ceiling. Another day done. Another day where I sold overpriced crap to people who didn’t even see me, just another uniform. Another day where I managed a bunch of kids who couldn’t care less if the shelves were stocked or if the whole damn place burned down. And then I come home, make dinner, clean up the endless mess, read bedtime stories, and tomorrow? Repeat. Just… repeat. It’s a loop. A really, really boring, soul-crushing loop. I was supposed to study archaeology. Can you even imagine? Digging up ancient civilizations, learning about things that actually *mattered*, not just inventory turnover and profit margins. I spent hours in high school devouring books about Egypt, about Rome, about the friggin’ Mayans. I wanted to travel, to discover something, anything, that wasn't already boxed and labeled and priced. But no. "Practicality," my parents said. "What are you going to *do* with that, Marisa?" "Logistics," my dad boomed, like it was the answer to all life’s mysteries. "There’s always a need for good logistics." And I believed them. God, I was so stupid. I just… went along with it. Now I’m the regional manager for… well, it doesn’t even matter what. It’s all the same. Boxes in, boxes out. Numbers up, numbers down. I spent a week last month trying to figure out why the Q3 widget shipment was delayed by a day and honestly, I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash something. That’s my life now. Optimizing the flow of widgets. My brain, which once dreamed of unearthing forgotten cities, now calculates optimal shelf placement for toilet paper. I mean I don't even — whatever. It's just so… empty. And then there's everything else. The endless cycle of laundry. The doctor’s appointments for my partner because they "just can't seem to get organized." The school forms, the permission slips, the birthday parties. The constant mental checklist of what everyone needs, what needs to be bought, what needs to be done. My kid asks me a question and sometimes I just stare at them blankly because my head is so full of SKU numbers and overdue invoices. I’m so tired of being the person who knows where everything is, who remembers everything, who has to keep all the plates spinning. I’m just… exhausted. Sometimes I close my eyes and I can almost feel the dust of an ancient tomb, the weight of a clay pot, the thrill of seeing something nobody has seen for thousands of years. But then the alarm goes off. Or the kid coughs. Or my partner asks where their other sock is. And I’m back. In this house. In this life. And it’s just… this. Forever. I guess. It just feels like I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I don’t even know how to find her again. If she’s even still there.