They don't call it a job for nothing.....

Repeat after me. I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. - Nope that didn't work. I dream of just getting up from my desk, grabbing my things, and walking out the door. I really do. I would never look back. Some days I wonder how much rage I have stored up from this place. I worry about what will happen when I can no longer store it. It's not like my boss is a jerk or anything like that. It's not that I work with people that I don't like. The problem is that after eight years I'm just tapped out. I want to cry at the though of walking through the door in the mornings. If I do go out to lunch, it takes everything that I've got to come back in. It just feels awful to know that I have to be here forty hours a week. Fourth hours per week of being this unhappy. The thing is that it's my prison. I won't go anywhere else and make the same money. Contrary to popular belief we need my pay check. We live payday to payday just like everyone else. What do you do? Do you pick leaving this place and not be able to make it? Do you stay and just let it kill you? I'd love to hear some bright ideas. Frenchie is uber supportive. He's always encouraging me to do something that I want to do and start my own business. I really appreciate that, but how would we live? I know nothing about running a business and especially nothing about what I love to do. My pretty job is a dream. Being where we are financially is real life. I struggle with responsibility and doing what will make you happy. I'm always telling people that life is too short to be doing something that you hate. On the other hand I'm always telling people that they need to take responsibility. The two just don't work together in my world. Maybe it was the way I was raised or the way that I see the world. I don't know for sure. What I do know is that I just continue to deal with this battle in my head. It makes for a big headache.