I've been trying to adult by creating a budget and tracking my expenses, but

it turns out I've just been categorizing my anxiety into different spreadsheet columns.

My morning commute isn't just a drive to work.

It's a carefully curated montage of triumph and adversity, scored by an epic instrumental, where every red light is a dramatic pause, and arriving at the office feels like the triumphant final scene of a blockbuster.

My main character energy is so strong, if I try on clothes and they don't fit right...

I don't blame the clothes. I blame the wardrobe department for misinterpreting the script.

My biggest life goal isn't buying a house or traveling the world.

It's finding a pair of women's jeans with pockets deep enough that my phone doesn't look like it's trying to make a daring escape every time I sit down.