Archives for posts with tag: 9-5

Thursday.

I know, guys, I know. I can literally feel your excitement through the computer screen.

Or maybe that’s just me freaking out over the fact that the work week is coming to a close and then it’s the weekend which is literally one day because all we truly have is Saturday and Sundays are in preparation for the worst day ever and ugh, great, I just convinced myself that today is basically the end of the weekend and it’s probably Monday.

Mind blown.

Regardless, I’m struggling on this Thursday morning due to me staying out late last night. Seriously, when will we come to terms with the fact that staying out past 12AM on a workday is probably never a good idea? We probably never will because, well, alcohol, but also because of the fact that wanting to enjoy ourselves for a few hours is human nature and sometimes, needed.

I used to work at Starbucks throughout my high school career. And yes, the job is exactly as you probably pictured it; taking absolutely ridiculous orders from you psychotic and desperate coffee/tea/frappufuckingccinno addicts and turning them into gold. Seriously, baristas are wizards and you guys aren’t even appreciative of it. I digress, though. When I worked there, however, I was co-workers with some awesome kids. But life got in the way, and we got tired of wreaking like coffee beans, so we quit and moved on to the next stage of our lives: real-life.

Years passed, and although we were friends over social media, we didn’t keep in contact much. But a few days ago, one of the guys I worked with texted me inviting me to see his band play at a small venue 30 minutes from my house. I knew he was in a band, knew he played some shows, but I never made an effort to go see him and his band members rock out. (Is that what hipsters say?) However, because of this life-is-too-short motto I’ve adopted recently, I figured I’d show some face and see my old friends.

And am I glad I did. Now, before I go into my life lesson piece, can I just give credit where credit is due? To all bands across this world with such a small following, used equipment, and under 300 likes on Facebook, props. Like, PROPS. How do you even continue to do what you do when there is the smallest possibility that you will ever make it big? You know when parents tell their kids at a young age that they are completely capable of being Barack Obama or Neil Armstrong or Britney Spears (pre-shaved head), well yeah, you’re all lying and you know you are and bands are just like, “I don’t care, dude, I love this. I’m going to become the Stones, I will NOT settle for The All-American Rejects.”

As I watched them play up on that stage with such enthusiasm and such confidence and joy, I couldn’t help but get a little jealous. At first, my jealousy was me obsessing over the fact that I quit singing lessons as a kid like three classes in. (I also forgot about the fact that my vocals sound like what I imagine the grumpy cat sounds like) However, it then turned into a jealousy over passion. I grew envious over the fact that these kids, at a young age, had something they believed in, something that made them so happy, that even if they continuously failed, that failure would only inspire more strength and probably, happiness, because their journey towards whatever they were reaching for, continues.

What’s comical is that before I had gone to their concert or small gathering of moms and drunk 21 year olds trying to crowd surf in a room that probably had a fire capacity warning of like 10, I was applying to this awesome internship opportunity that required me to go beyond what my resume or cover letter stated, and asked me to clearly state my passion for their company, my passion for a 20% project (Similar to Google’s 20% project) and my interests. I’m surprised I hadn’t just given up right then and there. Passion? Interests? What is this blasphemy? It took me a day to fill out the application as I went back and forth debating what to say and trying to find out things I’m interested in in a span of 24 hours. I didn’t exactly lie about my interests, but it seemed so forced to say what I wanted to do with my life. I had no idea. I was wrestling around with the idea of writing copy for brands, or something in the editorial field, or trying to inspire change, etc. (How in the hell do you inspire change without being Ghandi? I don’t want to be set on fire) I was a lost puppy. And it was disappointing to see how much I struggled with this.

I spoke about this in a blog post earlier, but what if I never find out? What if nothing strikes me as fascinating? Essentially, what if I never join a band? (I knew I should have never quit percussion in middle school) But here’s the thing. I think I quit too easily or I’ve tried enough hobbies. I experimented with the essentials as a child. My mother forced me to dabble in singing, acting, soccer, ballet, gymnastics, tap, jazz, flute, and percussion. I scored on my own team in soccer once and used to fake blow into the flute and pretend my fingers knew where they were moving. Needless to say, I was never very interested in much as a kid. Some odd years later, here I am, confused as to whether or not I should have tried harder in ballet and actually attempted to sing. (Nope, I’m still tone deaf) My point is, I have to keep trying. When something doesn’t make me spark, I’ll move on. But I shouldn’t get discouraged.

My childhood failures in attempting to pick up a steady hobby have kind of set me back. I’m afraid I just won’t like anything, but I don’t even try to hate it! (The epitome of first world problems) Therefore, I should try. Just like I’m going to try to cook food. I’m investing in a fun, cooking class as opposed to spending it on a hangover that I don’t need or a pair of shoes that I don’t…wait, maybe I do need them. Regardless, I’m going to try new things. That’s the only way to know; to know if I like something, to know if I enjoy something, to know if I love something, and to know if I can be part of the band.

(By the way, I forgot to send this out. It’s currently Monday morning and I’m struggling pretty hard. But, good news, I have two internship options for the fall semester. Slowly but surely working my way up to back-up vocalist. Next, Liza Minnelli impersonator.)

You guys guessed it. Work sucks!

Therefore, to combat the eternal boredom that I feel almost daily at this job, I like to walk.

Lately, though, it’s been so hot you just start sticking to shit that I’ve refrained from leaving my office and found tranquility by going in the office kitchen and doing a secret stress-relieving dance, (will not put up video for you), however, today’s weather decided to throw us a bone so I went for a walk.

I’m not really a person of experimentation. Old habits die hard with me. Except for alcohol. That, my friends, is always a challenge to see how far I can push my limit between the gaps of “I’m just tipsy” and “Wake that bitch up”, aka, my friends are trying to revive me because I’m passed out drunk in a diner at 4 am. (Okay, so that habit is actually pretty stable). But, I usually have a plan before I set out to do anything. Even something as simple as a little stroll outside my office perimeters. However, lately I’ve been on a “no fucks given” spree and just got up from my desk, grabbed my purse and went for a walk with no idea of where I was going in mind.

Instead of walking where the people were, I walked away from them. Kind of like when a native New Yorker sees Times Square and just starts running in the opposite direction. I just walked, and literally walked to wherever my heart desired. There were so many times where I would stop myself in my tracks and be like, “I should turn around and go back to the office”, but I didn’t, and I’d walk and then discover something new. I’d stop again, look back, convince myself to keep going, and then I’d discover something even cooler than before.

Along the way, I had found my future Carrie Bradshaw brownstone, a coffee-shop that was hidden and so unpopulated that it made me want to just start a book and escape there and a wine shop with such an intricate storefront display that I’d be willing to go in there and listen to some hipster explain the process of wine-making to me. I also came across so many dogs that I quietly squealed at and scared the shit out of the owners when it looked like I was about to dognap them, smiling people, quiet and then loud, pieces of conversations, and then I came across something so worthwhile.

I came across myself, that self that had been missing for a bit.

That self that wasn’t scared of risk, always sought change, and just went with the flow.

As I kept walking, I noticed how much stronger my stride and strut was the farther I got away from my office. I was happier, more confident, more relaxed, and just more of who I was. And when I kept coming across new blocks and street names that left me in awe, it’s like some force of nature was trying to tell me that going out of your comfort zone is not a bad thing, but something worth exploring. Literally.

In these recent weeks, I have thought so long and hard about leaving my internship. I leave the workday so unsatisfied, completely aware that I am not reaching my fullest potential here. But I had a plan, you see. Graduate, get the full-time job at a start-up that was about to hit break-even point, save up enough in a 2-3 year span, quit and do something I like. However, I did not foresee myself becoming so unhappy that I literally dread stepping foot into this office everyday. Therefore, it is my time to leave. And this walk, this walk of essentially “Nirvana”, proved that I shouldn’t be afraid to leave what I know. Because, guess what? If you head into the realm of the unknown, even for just a moment, you’ll discover things that were never made visible to you before.

I had been waiting for some time for a sign to let me know that it’d be okay to leave here, to abandon the post-grad plans that I had for so long, and that was it. Disapproval from my parents is something that is expected, but it seriously burdened me knowing that they would not understand my reasoning for wanting to leave. And now I’m just kind of like, this is my life, I DO WHAT I WANT. Kind of proud of that. Yuck, getting teary eyed. Seriously, I am the worst person with emotions. I cry in private so often, it’s pathetic. But if you cry in front of me, or like want to talk about something serious, I will laugh. It’s awful. Therefore, silently tearing by myself and none of you will ever see my break down. Because I’ll giggle and pretend like it never happened. But it did. Shh.

Any who, (Seriously, who the fuck says any who?), I know I posted yesterday already and I usually wait lightyears in between my postings, but I had to get this off my chest because I’m so ridiculously happy right now. As a matter of fact, right after work I’m going back around that spot to see if I can travel even farther. Even a block further beyond my imagination can do wonders.

It’s Wednesday. Usually, I’d complain about this day. I mean, when do working folk not complain, unless it’s 4:55 PM on a Friday? But it’s like a Super Hump Wednesday because it’s a major holiday and we also have Friday off and holy shit, I’m getting so excited to leave already.

Is it wrong to get so excited about work ending? Like, do adult people get just as prepared to leave like I do? Last semester, during my finals week, I snuck out of a classroom to avoid sitting through endless presentations; Literally crawled out of a classroom, on my hands and knees, and threw my book bag out the door to avoid having too much weight on me while I walked like an infant. That’s basically what happens when I leave work at 5 PM and everyone is still there and I feel awkward. Screw your judgmental glares, I live in the boonies and you’re all a subway ride away.

My point from that tedious rant, is that I need to learn how to cook. What? How did we go from shamelessly crawling out of a classroom to learning how to cook? Here’s the explanation.

I recently came across an article on thoughtcatalog, which is the shit and if you haven’t read their pieces, DO IT NOW, listing 10 reasons why 22 is the perfect age. The reasoning was genius. It was basically saying how if you don’t have two pennies to rub together right now and have no idea what the IRS really does, it’s totally fine. At 22, most people will forgive you for not understanding how the real world works.

3. It’s okay to not have it all figured out just yet. Whatever ‘it all’ is. Since you are probably a recent college grad, your family may give you gentle reminders about your future, but it hasn’t quite reached that pushy get-out-of-my-house-and-get-a-real-job phase. Cue the soul-searching.

Therefore, at 21, people should definitely forgive me for essentially crawling on my hands and knees when leaving work at 5 on the dot, right? I just want to get home and cuddle with Netflix. However, that forgiveness will only last for so long and when it runs out, when you get past that point where pre-22 becomes nonexistent, you have to enter adulthood, whether you like it or not.

4. Speaking of family, it is perfectly okay to live with your parents. Free rent and home-cooked meals? Holla. I mean, as long as you’re living under the pretense of ‘I’m working on nabbing my dream job in a couple years and will then find a humble abode of my own’ kind of thing.

I’m still at home with my family. And I’m completely okay with that. I don’t plan on moving out until I’m financially stable and able to rent without giving half of my paycheck away. Don’t worry, I’m not going to be there till I’m like 26, but 25.9 maybe? Kidding. (I love you, mom) But I don’t see the point of moving out right now or learning how to cook or understanding how taxes work. And the problem is that I seriously should. I burn pasta. Like literally forget to just stir it so it doesn’t stick and then minutes later it’s ruined and I’ve created some type of kindergarten macaroni catastrophe.

I keep delaying the inevitable. One day, Seamless will no longer be so inviting and that 2.00 delivery charge will make all the difference between ordering out and cooking up some pasta with that questionable marinara sauce in your cupboard.

However, I’m slowly realizing that although 22 may be the perfect age, it’s also the most stressful age. I never understood the meaning of a quarter-life crisis, until now. I’m trying my hardest to build up credit, so I’ve taken on my own car insurance, lease payments, and credit card. And it’s so much. I can’t even fully comprehend why I’m doing this, I’m just doing it because my mother is a finance freak and has taught me a few things about conserving and preparing for the future, financially. (At 20, you’ll listen to anything and believe it)

I’m only 21 and already freaking out, so one can only imagine how paranoid and stressed I will be at 22.

So, I need to learn how to cook. I feel as if once I conquer that, I can take control of being in my twenties, as ridiculous as that sounds. But cooking is one thing that I have put off for so long because I’ve never felt the need to. I feel like once I finally force myself to cook, I have to grow up, and that’s actually pretty terrifying to someone who has been using anti-wrinkle creams since she was 18. Therefore, I’ll tackle that first.

Till next time, y’all.

Also, can someone tell Taylor Swift that feeling 22 is stressful as all hell and not some indie-pop video with girls prancing around the beach. I mean, I do that, but I’m usually drunk because it distracts from the real issue at hand – worrying about whether that bikini will fit me ten years from now.

Shut up, you all do it.

*Currently trying to crawl out of my office. One step at a time, guys.

I won’t even say it.

I won’t.

I refuse.

Shit…

It’s Monday.

Literally, why? Just why? Why would you do such a thing to us, Monday? What did we ever do to you? I believe people are generally good at heart, therefore, why would you wrong us when we have essentially done no wrong to you? We’re the good ones. Go attack those bastards on Wall Street, not the almost college graduate just trying to pay for her car insurance every month. I’m trying, dammit.

Alright, I get it, I forgive you, considering you are nothing tangible, therefore, I can’t exactly strangle you. All I can do is wake up every Monday morning (God willingly), stare up at the ceiling as if you’re posted to it and just glare at you with such disdain. Oh, it works, people, try it.

Last night, I had an interesting conversation with a friend that I wish to share with you all. Don’t worry, it was a guy, so we weren’t discussing my menstrual cycle or my exes. Seriously, girls, we need better topics of conversation. Anyway, this friend of mine is extremely wealthy. He’s the type of person who enjoys discussing how incredible his life is, because, you know, acting like life is an eternal journey of constant clubbing and discovering yourself while at ULTRA in Miami, post 35 years old, will definitely help you achieve Nirvana.

He’s usually a bore to talk to. Surprisingly, hearing about how someone gets wasted every night on $15 red bull and vodkas is not interesting. Go figure! However, my little green monster unfortunately escapes me whenever I see him post ridiculous photos on Instagram, and then he adds some cool filter and you’re just like, “really? No, no filter. At least make it look somewhat life-like for us average folks.” It’s photos of his house, his multitude of what I call “dick cars” (cars that are awesome to make up for the fact that you probably have nothing below to show for it) his endless vacations to Miami, Puerto Rico, awesome-fucking island, etc., and then the many nights of clubbing with beautiful women.

I hate that when I talk to him or anyone else with that kind of wealth, I get a bit envious. Now, it’s not like I grew up in the hood with Kanye. I’ve always lived in the suburbs, probably considered upper middle class, had a playground, an above ground pool, three car garage, wait a minute, I was actually pretty well off. But I also wasn’t buying from Chanel and Prada like it was no big deal. I wanted to, though. I mean, isn’t it every child’s dream to be better off than their parents? Or at least a parent’s dream? My parents always taught my brothers and I that. Therefore, I promised myself that I’d make enough when I was older to never have to worry and of course, give back.

Our conversation went as it usually did. The awkward, “hey, whatcha been up to?” and you’re just like, “I’m not Barack Obama. My life has been pretty consistent these days, but sure, I guess things have changed.” However, something happened. He became…human. Our back and forth bantering went from something so casual to something of actual substance. He spoke about how stressful it is to work with his parents at their packaged food corporation, and how easy it would be if he could just let go of them and be on his own. At first, I was rolling my eyes. Stop complaining, kid; you have mommy and daddy fully supporting you while you get to go to work and do whatever you’d like, at any time, and not do anything you don’t like. However, I pretended to sympathize and act like I understood these #richkidproblems. I told him how I didn’t exactly enjoy working at the startup I’m at, but it’s a company with so much potential and opportunity for growth, aka, I’m staying for the financial benefits to come.

Just when I thought he’d agree with my decision to stay for money and we’d have some type of like bro-high-five (Do you men do that? please stop), because hey, he’s affluent and pretty boastful, he said, “Yeah, I know, but at the end of the day it’s not about the money, money will always come and go…doing something you love and makes you happy is what’s important.” (Picks up jaw)

Dude came straight out of a tumblr post. Instead of empowering me, he humbled me. I sat back for a second and thought, wow, he’s right. Money will come and go, and when it goes, will you still be happy? I can’t say that, if I stay here and make enough money to not worry about $14 cocktails. Where do we draw the line? Are we on the pursuit of happiness or the pursuit of money that may bring us to happiness? Does the latter ever happen, though?

I don’t know, I really don’t. I haven’t even found what I have a passion for, therefore, how could I really know? Are you over 25 and know? Are you over 35 and know? Are you over 65 and know? Check out Jane Fonda. She is 75 and looks absolutely incredible. In an interview she recently had, she explained how she’s finally hit that lightbulb moment in her life; How she doesn’t miss being in her twenties, because she’s finally content with where she’s at now. At 75. She’s also very wealthy, however, that’s not why she’s happy. It’s got so much more to do with her finally finding something, whether that be inner peace, love, a wonderful extracurricular activity that we don’t know about, etc. Will we all have to be 75? Or do the majority of us feed off of being 37 and rich, not seeing that being 75 and internally happy has so much more weight to it?

Maybe. I guess what I can say to all of this and that conversation and to you, guys, is that this life is too short to not be doing something you love to do. I sit at this 9-5 and there are days when I’m like wow, I can’t even bear another day, and then other times when I find out I’m going to Dublin and London, I’m like, I love this place, look at all the daisies blossoming out of the hardwood floor! I’m still young and stupid, okay? But we’re all young and stupid, at heart, at least. That’s why I’m still sitting in this comfy rolling chair, still doing work, still commuting three hours everyday to prove my worth to them. But for what? When will I learn, I ask myself. Maybe never. Maybe in the next year or two.

So here’s a question to you guys, have you learned?

Thursday!  Get excited, you hardworking, driven, fantastical, (is that a word?) 9-5, slightly miserable, caffeine addicted, people. See what I did there? No, but really, it’s Thursday! We should be excited that the most teasing day out of the entire week is finally here. And I know what you’re thinking, “Damn, another week is over?” And although I feel as if we should do some type of victory dance because the work week is coming to a close, I also feel like we should be doing some type of life reflection, like, “How in the hell are my years passing me?”

I thought about this as I went out to dinner after work by myself yesterday.  I know, right? What 21 year old goes out to dinner by herself? However, you’d be surprised how peaceful it is to just enjoy a delicious meal, in the quiet spaces of your mind, and just dine. Funny thing is, my meal was shit.  (Here comes the cursing, peeps)

One of my favorite inexpensive, Italian spots in the city is Otto Enoteca. It’s Mario Batali’s lesser version of Babbo, basically it’s .01% of what Babbo is. However, the atmosphere is pleasant, the servers act like they work at Morimoto and the food is pretty great. (But then again, at 21, I think any place that feeds my starving stomach should end up in Zagat)

Before my arrival, I walked through Washington Square Park. It was a beautiful day, people were stopping and staring at the street acts that are always so painful to watch, but you keep looking because you hope for just one second that they do something magnificent that triggers you into giving them a dollar. (That rarely happens) I usually would just run through this park if I were with someone, but I wasn’t, so I sat, put away my addiction called the iPhone, and looked around me. I sat and thought. Thought about why I was alone right now, why I let such a little disappointment upset me so much that I left work early in hopes of visiting a museum, but only to have dinner, by my lonesome. I carried those thoughts with me to dinner and maybe that’s why the food sucked. The pasta was too al dente, and hey, I’m all about Giada’s “al dente” pasta talk, but jeeze, it was like it came straight out of the box and the chef just gave up right then and there. $23.00 later and I was even more upset than when I had arrived.

And then it hit me. Well nothing, really technically “hit” me, but I had a realization; It’s okay. I was beating myself up over feeling sad or upset or lonely or delusional or just the regular pms-ing, when I didn’t even realize that it’s quite alright to have one of “those days.” And this is to all of us. We work, work, work, come home, shower, sleep, then work, work, work, repeat, and fit in some useless hour or two of American Idol to make us feel better. That never does the trick, though, does it? It’s because sometimes we just need to sit back and admit to ourselves that life is pretty damn difficult at times, and yes, when the going gets tough, the tough get tougher, but those tougher people did, at one point, have that lonesome dinner where they wanted to pull their hair out, cry, argue, and then depart.

We live in such a world where it’s stupid to show such weakness and that’s a problem. I left work about an hour early, which I never do, and the one time I do, I felt as if everyone knew I was upset, and was like, “Look at this naive girl. She can’t even handle her job right now.” And that wasn’t the case. I was at work the next day, (today), at 9 am ready to tackle this Thursday head on. I just needed that moment yesterday to be in tune with my feelings, and possibly a tub of chocolate ice cream. (But only one tub!)

I feel as if us working people don’t realize this until we hit some type of insanity point in our mid 40’s where we’re like, “Holy shit, these kids! My spouse! My mortgage! All of you, disperse this instant!” So here’s my post-teen advice to you working folks: (please take me seriously) learn how to release, to not harbor in anger or confusion, to essentially, “let go.” Even if just for a moment. During your lunch hour, just don’t go run down to your favorite deli and devour your overpriced sandwich, sit down and savor it. When you’re stressed, don’t frantically buzz your already crazed secretary to get you that turbo charged Starbucks drink. Go get it yourself, and during that dreaded two minute walk there, breathe. Plug in some headphones, play your favorite song, (Yes, Rod Stewart’s “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” counts), buy your drink and finish it outside.

We are human. And it’s okay to confront that demon within us, the one telling us that it’s not okay to be human.

It’s Tuesday.  I feel like Tuesdays are the new Mondays.  We’ve learned how to embrace Monday.  It’s dreaded, the office secretly hates each other that day, but we’ve come to terms with delaying the inevitable so we cope.  However, Tuesdays are just awful.  Why do you exist?  Hump Day is exciting, Thursday is the best tease and then, Friday, well Friday is Friday.  Tuesday’s just like, “I feel neglected in your weekly schedule so I’m just going to straight ruin your week.”  I just realized I wrote a paragraph on how bad work week Tuesdays are.  Clearly, this youngin’ has not quite yet become accustomed to the 9-5.

It’s funny, though, because you’d think that I’d be so excited to get a proposal for a full-time job as a student/intern entering my senior year of college.  However, I just feel “ehh” at this point. Ehh.  You know?  It’s that pretty indifferent feeling.  And it’s not like I am not thankful.  Oh, I’m extremely grateful and fortunate because I understand life after graduation is no walk in the park.  But, I just feel like, (drumroll) I’m not doing something I’m passionate about.

How many times have you heard that from your friends, family, significant other?  “I’m not doing what I want.”  I’ve heard that too many times, from way too many different people, and what I’ve gathered is that the majority of us are pretty unhappy with where we are in life, in terms of careers, relationships, personal growth, etc.  I hear their stories, their complaints, the draw in their voices, and I get scared. What if that’s me?  What if I turn into that?  Okay, so let’s solve the problem.  Start doing what you love, Amanda.  Oh, here’s a little zinger.  I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I WANT TO DO IN THIS CRAZY LIFE.

Therefore, I go to work.  I breathe.  I dabble in a few extracurricular activities that excite me (Amanda, volunteering once a year doesn’t count), and I hope that somewhere along the way, my passion will just appear right in front of me and I’ll notice and hang on to it till the day I die.  Life doesn’t span out like that, does it?  I’m being serious, though, does it?  Have any of you, possibly older than me, younger, around my age, have you found your calling in life?  And if you are the the few privileged who have, how did it happen?  I don’t even know you, and I’m jealous.

I remember wanting to be a writer for so long when I was much younger.  I didn’t know what to write, what type of industry just writing “how I felt” fell into, or how I’d get started, I just knew that writing was something I enjoyed doing.  I’d write poems, short stories, started an amateur blog on Tumblr voicing my embarrassing emotions about an ex boyfriend, and I was pretty convinced I loved it.  I grew discouraged, though, when I saw how difficult it was to be successful in that type of industry.  I figured I’d have better luck in marketing.  And that’s where I am.  And hear me out; marketing is so interesting. But the odd fact that dogs primarily see in black and white is interesting, too.  It doesn’t mean I want to study why dogs are colorblind.

You get me?  What if I never find my passion?  My goal, at this very moment, is to financially benefit from the growing success of this start-up.  They are an incredible company about to hit that break-even point, and I want to be there.  And I probably will be, as long as I don’t blow up the coffee machine.  And once they do, I want to essentially “cash-out” and do something that is of more interest to me.  Is that horrible?  I kind of cringed when I typed, “cash-out.”  But I can’t see myself here forever.  I’ll sacrifice for a few years, until I’m stable enough to move on and begin doing something that inspires me.  That’s my plan.  Will it work?  I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.  We’ll hold our breath for a minimum of 5 years, and if we exceed those 5 years, then we’re dead.  (That was punny)

Alright, enough sap for the day.  Plus, my boss is probably wondering why I’m typing so frantically and no actual work is being generated.  But then again, I also have like 5 useless internet tabs open right now that if someone were to come by my spot unexpectedly,  I’d argue that a ghost took over my computer.  And then nervously click out of Spotify. (Body Party by Ciara is probably not the most appropriate work theme song)

I’ll see you guys next time!  And remember that it’s almost 5PM and I’m right there with you silently celebrating in our wishful hearts.