There’s something uniquely offensive about a Monday morning when you already don’t like your job—and you know you’re leaving soon.

It’s like being forced to sit through the last 20 minutes of a movie you’ve already decided is terrible. You’re not invested. You’re not curious. You’re just… there.

Existing.

The alarm goes off and instead of motivation, your brain offers you a highlight reel of everything you’d rather be doing. Reading a book with a cup of coffee. Writing something that actually feels like you. Watering plants and pretending you have your life together. Sketching badly but enthusiastically.

Literally anything that doesn’t involve logging in and saying “Happy Monday!” to people who also don’t mean it.

And yet—here you are.

Because adulthood is essentially a long-running series called “Things I Have To Do Before I Can Do What I Want To Do.”

The irony is painful. As a kid, you dream about freedom. No school, no rules, just endless time to explore your interests. As an adult, you technically have that freedom… squeezed into a two-hour window between “I’m too tired” and “I should probably sleep.”

Your hobbies—your actual joys—get demoted. They become “if I have time” activities. Which is hilarious, because scrolling your phone for 47 minutes somehow always makes the schedule.

And Mondays? Mondays really highlight the imbalance.

They show up like an unpaid bill, demanding energy you’d rather invest elsewhere. Especially when your heart has already checked out of your job. You’re physically present, but spiritually you’re in your garden, dramatically watering a plant like you’re in a period drama.

But there’s a weird, quiet comfort in knowing you’re leaving.

Every annoying meeting becomes slightly more tolerable when you can think, “This is temporary.” Every passive-aggressive email loses its sting when you realise it won’t be your problem for much longer.

You start to observe things differently. The office politics become background noise. The urgency fades. You begin mentally redecorating your future instead of your current situation.

And your hobbies? They start whispering a little louder.

Not in a guilt-trip kind of way. More like a gentle reminder:

“Hey… we’re still here. Whenever you’re ready.”

So maybe this Monday isn’t about loving your job or suddenly becoming a productivity machine. Maybe it’s just about getting through it with minimal emotional damage and a slightly sarcastic inner monologue.

Maybe it’s about carving out 20 minutes later to read a few pages, scribble a few lines, water a plant, or draw something questionable but satisfying.

Because even in the middle of adulting chaos, those small moments still belong to you.

And honestly? That’s probably what’s going to get you through until the next chapter begins.

Preferably one where Mondays don’t feel like a personal attack.