The 40 hour work week prison sentence

I sat at my desk, looking over the paperwork that would create my magnum opus my monthly report. And like any great American novel this report would contain the appropriate amount of fiction so that consumers would buy it. I stared out the window, I didn't need a weather report to tell me that it was low 80's with a soft, sweet wind and a sun that that would viciously disappear the second I set one foot out the door.

I looked at the mountain of paperwork and frowned, holy Christ it had doubled in volume in the brief seconds I had looked out the window. I closed my eyes.

My heart started to pick up speed, it was coming, like the distant buzz that would become the deafening rumble of a train as it made its way into the station. My heartbeat normal minutes before started to gradually increase in pace. 

Not now, I pleaded with myself, the begging only made the pain worse. The sweat started to form on my back and forehead, I wore layers in the overly air-conditioned room, soon I would be peeling the clothing off. 
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As if on cue to signal the arrival of a full blown panic attack my breathing became irregular.  Like a gazelle in the jungle sensing a lion my uncontrolled brain took over. 

Sweat started to run down my face and back., my heart jack-hammered so hard in my chest that my body shook.  

I was trapped, I had maneuvered myself into my own trap. The stack of papers on my desk doubled in size. I closed my eyes and tried to regain some control.

"You know what you have to do, you have to cut it off" the voice whispered in my head. The back of my chair was now drenched with the sweat with its own personal aroma of fear, despair and desperation. "Cut it off do it now" I shook my head terrified.

If I cut it off, how would I explain to my friends and family. If I cut it off the world would be a witness to my shame. 

"If you cut it off it will feel good" the voice spoke louder in my head. 

My hand was shaking so hard that my first two attempts were utter failure, I pressed the button and the laptop turned off. 

My heart increased until I was sure it would slam out of my chest. "Now take a deep breath" the voice spoke again, I hiccuped as I inhaled clean fresh air. 

I lost track of how long I sat in the chair, when my breathing was normal I straightened my spine in an act of defiance. I looked at the laptop loathing it with my entire being. 

"Now get up and walk out" the voice said the excitement was palpable, I sat frozen. It was one thing to cut the machine off, but to get up and walk out that way anarchy. If I walked out I could not come back from that. 

"Get up and walk out". I cant I whined what will people think. "Get up and walk out. 

The maniac that was renting space in my brain did not even try to pretend it heard my logical explanations as to why walking out in the middle of the work day was a no-no.

I turned my head but before I could look out the window, my eyes fell on the calendar where I faithfully ticked off each day as it came to a close.

I marked the passage of time on that calendar, in that moment the sun flooded the office warming me despite the arctic air conditioning. 

My hand inched closer until I grabbed my phone, I threw it into my purse.

I walked out, everyone says I should have given two weeks notice. But the voice in my head responds: "we gave notice and quit the second we started to count each lost day."

I overhead someone saying this was the coldest winter in recorded history, and yet the sun continues to warm me each day when I wake.