Not my home anymore

I got home from work today and sat at my desk, aimlessly browsing the web, seeing but not processing the images on my monitor.

My mind was on other things.

Work was not good today; several mistakes were made. I will admit that I am partially at fault, not committing the original mistakes, no. My fault lies in not catching the mistakes before my father did. And he was not happy at all.

Working for one's parents has pros and cons. Pros include not worrying about getting fired, and not worrying about requesting vacation time. Basically, all the benefits of having a extremely secure job.

Cons are a much lengthier list, but condensed:

It's hard to get paid for the work you do.
When something goes wrong, your boss will yell at you until you get off work.
Whenever your boss starts lecturing you, he brings up things that no ordinary boss would know.
You never get off work.


Anyways, as I sat there, I realized that I was waiting for something.

I was waiting for my boss to come home and lecture me.

And I realize that this is not an occasional occurrence.

Every night, my ears are trained to the sound of my father coming up the stairs to this room. I'm paranoid in my own room. I can't relax here.

Every man's home is supposed to be his castle.

I'm no longer safe or secure in this house.

This house belongs to my boss.

This is no longer my home.


Tomorrow, I'm taking the day off.
I need to clear my mind and examine my options.
I need to move.