10 hours left.
10 people are on the bus this morning. When I walked up to my stop, I thought I had missed it because no one was there awaiting the bus. Turns out everyone was feeling the cold grey of Friday morning and had the balls to stay in bed a little longer.
9.5 hours left.
Why is it that I only manage to fall into a comfortable sleep when it’s time to wake up.
8 hours left.
The office is deserted. An invisible person behind the barricades of the cube farm types furiously. I sip my latte.
6.5 hours left.
Two pairs of people having delightful conversation is the loudest sound that has ever bothered me. My cup is empty.
6 hours left.
I’m 1 chai latte, 4 Medium reads, 2 emails, 10 texts, 1 Instagram post, and 3 Facebook notifications into my day. Every time I pull away from distraction and back into the office, I worry about if I’ll get my work done. Every time I worry about if I’ll get my work done, I realize I don’t care. Every time I realize I don’t care, my close future flashes before my eyes. I’m five years into my job and I still feel the same. I walk into work wondering what astrological phenomenon would have to strike this desolate building so that I can leave and do what I really care about. I sit at my desk for 7.5 hours doodling and waiting for real life to begin. Then I’m back to the present. I look at the clock.
5.8 hours left.
I realize I used to think about changing course five years ahead, but now I can’t even see past one year. I’m only seven weeks into my first full-time job and writing a Medium post about daydreaming that my office building gets hit by a meteor. Or is it asteroid? I restrain from looking up the distinction between meteor and asteroid. Why is my cup still empty? I hope for the best.
5 hours left.
My friend comes to visit me at my desk. She’s the second person today to tell me she’s bored. I wonder if people I know at other companies have just as mundane and unsatisfying jobs. I hope one particular company does so one particular person I know suffers.
4 hours left.
Today’s biggest accomplishment so far is getting 15 likes on my Instagram post from this morning. It’s disappointing on two levels. Time for lunch.
3 hours left.
The paradox between wanting a meeting to be short so you can be in peace and wanting it to be long because the peace afterwards is unbelievably boring.
2.75 hours left.
You’d think that coming out of a productive meeting would be a catalyst for afternoon motivation and productivity. Nope.
2 hours left.
My playlist of Taylor Swift complaining about boys loops for what is probably the fiftieth time this month. I would be sick of it by now, but it’s all still terribly relatable.
Atonal voices singing Happy Birthday in the cube farm next door echo through the deserted office. The coworkers of an aging “Sheryl” flock to her office for cake as if it’s the most exciting thing to happen today, if not this week. It probably is.
1 hour left.
The anticipation is killing me. I am now tapping my foot to the upbeat tunes of Spotify’s “TGIF” playlist. Tapping my foot is all I can do to stop myself from moving to the grooves and totally jamming out at my desk. Despite my extreme lethargy, I could totally release all this energy wasted sitting at a desk and go for a night at the club. Probably going to order takeout and watch a movie on the couch tonight instead.
30 minutes left.
The bored coworker from earlier and I spend 5 minutes texting back and forth talking about this organic chocolate peanut butter cup I’m eating. The conclusion is that it has a respectable novelty taste similar to that of a homemade dessert but pails in comparison to a Reese’s Cup.
IT’S GO TIME.
As I swiftly sweep things off my desk into my backpack, a few thoughts cross my mind. I should probably be glad I have a job to go to 5 days a week. I probably shouldn’t long for the days where my parents paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for me to spend the day not paying attention. I should be glad I have a task to do and get paid for doing, even if it’s small, boring, and meaningless. As I board the bus, I think maybe I should be thankful I have the luxury of being miserable from boredom at work instead of unbelievably stress. Maybe I should change my whole current outlook on my job.
Maybe on Monday. For now, I’m looking forward to a weekend away from the fluorescent farmland. Having nothing to do never felt so sweet.