The jet is not lagging, it's me.

I lay here with eyes wide open, staring at the window as it slowly turns brighter and brighter behind the curtains. It is only 7 AM on an unknowing Saturday morning. I feel wronged.

My final moments of the night before involved being awakened by the piercing ringing of my antique rotary phone. I answered, just to stop it, and S immediately was slurring something like this: Why didn’t you drop by just now? Why didn’t you even bother to come?

My cellphone said it was 11 o'clock. I was sound asleep, so I couldn’t cook up an excuse as fast as I normally could. So I just said: Hey, I’m sleeping. I am tired. Let’s talk tomorrow okay?

To which she responded, slurring in an annoyed slurring way: okay, okay, bye...

I returned to unconsciousness in under a second and proceeded to have a somewhat awkward dream about a mystery woman and DARN! Just when I want to pen it down now, my memory fails me.

I have officially submitted my 2 weeks’ notice last Wednesday. With that, colleagues who happen walk by me spontaneously will yell out: Quitter! Traitor! Or something in similar fashion. This doesn’t faze me, and a sinister grin will consciously appear at the corner of my mouth. I’m moving on, I told myself, I need to get out!

The countdown started already, but I haven’t done much, except for the sale of my couch. I’ve collected 3 big moving boxes from the office so far —recycling is better than purchasing new ones.

Going back to the reason why I feel wronged — there has been way too many farewell parties organized for people who resigned from my agency (I don’t want to explain why so many people are quitting). So at this point, I kinda stop attending these drink-and-bitch fests. It gets tiring as everyone is just angry and you will be amazed at the amount of resentment they still keep even long after they left. I don’t want to be drunk and angry. I want to leave work and not worry about it for the rest of the night. That is, until the next morning, it can all be familiarized again.

And I don’t drink much socially. I mostly drink to get drunk in order to dance like I don’t care if anyone's watching. Sitting there, with a warm beer in hand, tediously discussing how the previous account director should have save the business we lost just doesn’t seem alluring.

And this is why S is pissed. I had somewhat deliberately skipped one of those going-aways last night. And I kinda sorta maybe perhaps will deliberately forget to attend my very own.

With that said...