Somehow I always manage to get sick on Friday. PGP.

Your mother-in-law wishing her daughter married someone else. PGP.

That moment of pure anguish right before getting out of your car in the morning. PGP.

Never getting any Snapchats. PGP.

Enthusiasm over a quality pen. PGP.

Had no internet at work yesterday, spent 9 hours playing solitaire. PGP.

Your boss questioning decisions that they instructed you to make. PGP.

Crying at the end of “Animal House.” PGP.

Calling in sick for the World Cup match and then actually getting sick. PGP.

Leaving my job in a week. All this time, I didn’t realize it was possible to do so little work and get away with it. PGP.