I don’t rise—I slightly hover with caffeine.

My dreams have better Wi-Fi than my house.

My bedtime is flexible. It stretches past 3 a.m.

Confidence level: singing in the shower until the shampoo bottle judges me.

I don’t have goals. I have vibes.

My luck is so bad, even my autocorrect trolls me.

I text back mentally. Emotionally, I’m exhausted.

I survive on sarcasm and dramatic sighs.

I read one book and now I think I’m a philosopher.

I daydream like it’s a full-time job.

I can’t hear negativity over the sound of snacks.

My hobbies include avoiding responsibilities

Me after doing laundry: waits 3 days to fold it.

My eyebrows have better drama arcs than most shows.

If I had a dollar for every time I lost one, I’d still be broke.

“Just one bite” – me, 17 bites later.

I overthink texts like they’re ancient scrolls.

My version of meal prep is ordering food in advance.

My brain’s favorite game: overthinking pro mode.

Weekends should come with a warning: “Don’t blink.”