If lost, return to bed.

Sleep is my love language.

I tried to give 100%, but my battery was at 12%.

I'm not messy. I'm creatively scattered.

I can't afford therapy, so I argue in my head.

I came. I saw. I made it awkward.

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.