It’s Thursday—which, in my world, is basically the ceremonial ribbon-cutting for a 4-day weekend. And let me tell you, brothers and sisters, I have earned this one. This week at work, I was deep in the trenches—trainings, tracking spreadsheets, clicking boxes like I was training for the Spreadsheet Olympics. At one point I looked up and it was 5pm… 5pm! Time had just packed up its things and ghosted me. If I hadn’t checked the clock, I’d probably still be there right now, fossilized at my desk.
Some days when quitting time hits, I turn into Fred Flintstone punching out—YABBA DABBA DOO!—except instead of sliding down a dinosaur tail, I’m just aggressively shutting my laptop and speed-walking to freedom.
Later today, I’m having lunch with a couple of retired coworkers—which really just means I’ll get wisdom, stories, and possibly directions on how to nap professionally. But let’s be honest, I also have a mission: vinyl hunting. Because when I have free time, I don’t relax—I flip through crates like a musical archaeologist.
And if I stumble across something with a name like “Argia”…oh, it’s coming home with me. I mean, Argia? That’s not a name, that’s a deep-cut Scrabble word. Clearly she never had a publicist saying, “Maybe let’s rebrand.” But honestly, respect to her—she stuck with it, recorded a couple of girl group gems, and then ZING (pun intended), she vanished into the night like a mysterious vinyl ninja.
Be true to yourself, Argia. Even if the charts weren’t ready for you…my record shelf is.
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