I have a meeting with the manager this week, but I’m dreading it.
It feels like an uphill battle.
Every night, I find myself staring at the ceiling, wondering.
Is it a prank, a quality control blunder, or something more deliberate?
My sister asked why I looked so tired.
“Just work,” I said, not wanting to burden her.
She nodded, used to my distractions.
But this time, it wasn’t the usual stressors.
The green balls have a grip on my mind.
I’ve thought about calling customer service again.
Their previous responses were vague and unhelpful.
I’m not sure they’ll have anything new to say.
And I’m not sure I want to hear more dismissals.
Yet, ignoring it feels wrong, like giving up.
But the frustration builds, silently.
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