I Quit

Dear Zach,

I quit. Again. I handed my resignation letter across the desk to my manager. It was in the middle of heated discussion where the question about task-to-do-today was landed on me, Everyone was awaiting my response. I looked at the desktop as if searching for strength to tell her about my to-do list. My mind was racing with possibilities. Without knowing that I was so nervous, my palms were so sweaty. Five seconds had passed. I couldn't think of anything to do today. I couldn't think of anything to do ever, at my desk, in this office. I don't know what I was doing. I was so disappointed at the fact that I couldn't even muster a solid prove that I was actually doing something in favor of her request. Simply because she banned all the ideas and I practically had nothing left to work with. Ten seconds had passed. She was waiting, elbow on the table, palm tucked under her chin. Being clueless about my job, this job, that I was once so eagerly to learn, now I hated it, I want to leave. Don't ever come back to here again. Fifteen seconds of silence had passed. I pulled open my desk drawer, and withdrew my resignation letter I typed last night, and passed it to her, in front of everyone. 

"This job doesn't fit me. I can't do it. I quit."