P for Problematic

I was supposed to leave work at exactly 5:30 PM today. You know, sharp. Like Cinderella, but instead of turning into a pumpkin, I turn into a couch potato. But noooo—my manager decided to summon a “random discussion” (his words, not mine—“This is not a meeting,” he claimed) right at 5:00 PM. And guess what? It dragged on until 6:30 PM. Yup, a whole hour and a half of my life I’ll never get back.

After the discussion ended, I wandered into the production area like a lost soul, and everyone who saw me had the same confused look on their face: “Huh?? Why are you still here?!” And honestly, fair question. That alone should tell you how religiously I leave at 5:30 PM. On. The. Dot.

Now, here’s the juicy bit: that so-called not-a-meeting only strengthened my will to resign. My manager is trying to rope me and this other guy—who’s ridiculously good at his job—into helping another department. Let’s call them Department P... as in Pfft. That department is a walking disaster. Zero professionalism, constant mess-ups, and a magical ability to turn everything they touch into chaos. And now? Our director wants us to guide them. Like, hold their hands, spoon-feed them, and practically burp them until they get their act together.

Sir, I beg you. Your own department is already gasping for air, and you’re out here playing superhero? Please save yourself before trying to save the Titanic.

Anyway, TGIF! I’m already mentally in next weekend because—drumroll—I’m going on a KL trip! Even better? I only have to work three days next week. Bless. We’re catching a midnight bus on Friday, which means I have the whole of Thursday free. I might go treat myself to a solo hotpot session. My brother’s drowning in exams and unavailable, but hey, more food for me.

It’s been ages since I took a long-distance bus ride. The last time was when I was 11, heading to Miri for a school competition. Coming from Kuching, that was like a 12-13 hour ride. By the time we got there, my butt was flatter than my bank account after payday. But those were the golden days—no adulting, no overtime, just study, train, and maybe win a medal. Sometimes I wish I could go back and train harder to place better, but alas, time marches on and so must we.

As for tomorrow? I’m declaring a sleep marathon. No alarms. No responsibilities. Just me, my bed, and sweet, sweet unconsciousness. After the week I’ve had—working OT practically every day—sleep is my new religion.

Screw the work. Long live the weekend.

Monday vs Friday...