Love That Leaps Without A Shove

“The deadline’s tomorrow Lily! Don’t forget!”

I rubbed my eyes and held onto my coffee even firmer. I kept repeating to myself that it was only a couple of hours until I was off and able to relax, go home and stretch my legs on the couch.

“I know Christine!” I shouted back to my boss, rather tempted to add some verbal abuse and make her realize what a bitch she really was.
All she did was give me more and more paperwork instead of letting me do my real job, being a journalist. I was the chick that got sent out for coffees, that picked out gifts for the high executives when Christmas time rolled around… I was the lapdog in other words.

It had been two years here without a salary raise, without a promotion or any interest towards me. Hell, I knew I was fucking good, they had told me back when I was in college but nope, a big-shot Bostonian newspaper didn’t rely on me on articles and coverage of some event.
They had plastic chicks that couldn’t spell their name right, or daughters of people that had connections with the bosses.

This was a business and I was a fly, a piece of shit…
Well, at least it paid the bills. I couldn’t complain; it wasn’t that horrible money-wise but I just felt that I wasn’t using my talent at all. The last time I had written an article was four months ago, when they had asked me to cover a story about an old lady who married a guy fifty years younger than her.

My point?
I wanted to have a column, where I could openly express myself about the city I grew up in. I had planned it in my head.
It would consist of random bits of information, places to be, events that happened to me while being in the city, full of sarcasm and witty humor. It was my dream really, but no-one was willing to invest in it.

Older employees just told me to kick away the style of writing I had; as they said, it wouldn’t get me far. I had tried already to fit in my work environment. Most of the people on the same pay roll as I were over forty, working half their lives already. I was 25, born on November first of 1950, making me one of the youngest people in the whole damn building.

I had given up lots of things in order to get this job, thinking that I’d be drowning in success and seeing my stuff published.
I used to be a rock n’ roller, attending shows at least twice a week, going into slimy bars with friends and drinking my body weight in alcohol. Occasionally, there were drugs but I was never into the hardcore stuff, the things that could really damage me.

Now, the only reminder of the girl that used to be a bit more fun-loving and carefree was my smoking habit. Hell, smoking was my addiction, I guess I could afford to have at least one.

The phone rang in the tiny space that fitted three desks for me and two people I never cared to know. Nobody seemed to lift their gaze from their work, so I shrugged to nobody and just picked it up.