I Dream of Better Days

     The American Dream for me has somehow turned into a nightmare.  Each morning I hit the snooze button in hopes of avoiding the inevitable--that of going to my job.  Each morning as I climb out of bed I remind myself that there are bills to pay and for now, that is enough motivation to get myself into the shower, get myself dressed and then rush off to the warehouse where I trudge through eight hours of sheer misery.  The warehouse in which I work has two ways of controlling the elements; doors open or doors closed.  There are no heaters installed for the winter weather nor are there air conditioners to help me tolerate the summer heat.  Eighteen-wheelers are constantly backing to the docks, their exhaust fumes filling the air as my crew does the loading and unloading of cargo.  The cardboard dust from the boxes lingers in the air.  Those with allergies need not apply.