sure. wait. what?

YESTERDAY I finally wrote the exam I spoke about last week, and it was a lot easier than anticipated. I was all sorts of overjoyed afterwards. I couldn’t believe I knew exactly what I was doing but, to be fair, I did spend the entire weekend studying.

I even tried the pomodoro technique, but I just didn’t know what to do during those 5-minute sprints. Like, seriously. Was I supposed to scroll? Stare at the wall? Braid my hair? Nah.

I ended up just going at it, reading and reciting concepts to myself until I ran out of steam. Then I took a break. Then I went back at it. Then break, rinse, repeat.

My exam was scheduled Monday night, but instead of booking the day off, I still went to work and treated it like a regular day. I came home after work, I prepped the bedroom with L’s help (the exam was remotely proctored so there were many rules), then I wrote (and killed) the test.

The exhilaration I felt last night is all gone now. New day, new bullshit to deal with at work. I am grateful I have a job, but gosh sometimes work just makes me want to flip my desk over and scream like a lunatic until my tonsils bleed.

I truly wish I had the White Man Audacity to just call people out when they’re being dumb or mean or not as brilliant as they think they are. Why aren’t I more assertive? More confident? Some people’s decisions are trash, and yet nobody questions them because, what? They speak loud? They sound sure? God, I don’t even know.

My heart was beating so fast on my way home today because I kept thinking about work, about the things I could’ve said, about the people I could’ve questioned. When I started feeling tension on my shoulders and my forearms, I knew it wasn’t right. I tried reminding myself that work ain’t worth it. It’s just a job. Just do what you’re asked to do. Who cares about those dumbasses? It’s just a job, it’s just a job, it’s just a job.

Welp. Didn’t quite work. Here I am writing about work, aren’t I?

It’s already 10 in the evening, and my heartbeat is still racing against time. My forearms are still unusually sore and I still feel like punching people in the face. Fuck work, man.

Anyway, whatever. I’m just gonna go to bed, doomscroll a little bit, and maybe buy a lottery ticket while I’m at it. Homegirl could use some $20 million right about now.