I wake up confident. Then I hit snooze twice.

My version of “self-care” involves zero movement.

I use GIFs to explain my entire inner monologue.

I don’t argue—I just state my opinion louder.

I only work out when I chase the ice cream truck.

I sneeze louder than my aspirations.

The microwave: beeps once — My anxiety: “RUN, THEY’LL KNOW!”

I have a PhD in pretending to understand what people are talking about.

Me calculating how many hours I can waste and still make the deadline.

The only ring I’ll ever have is a donut.

I’m not a morning person. I’m not a night owl either. I’m just... tired.

The only marathon I’m running is 10 seasons of a show in 2 days.

My Wi-Fi has more ups and downs than my emotions.

Why argue when you can just eat and pretend it’s fine?

I don’t chase dreams. I oversleep and miss them.

People say “be yourself,” then judge you for it.

My diet is like a WhatsApp group—completely ignored.

I downloaded a productivity app. Now I’m just ignoring that too.

I never fold laundry. I domestically freestyle.

My life is under construction, but I lost the blueprint.