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 male friends can leave the house in five minutes flat.

I need five minutes just to locate my 'everyday' purse, which usually contains a rogue earring, three different chapsticks, and the entire emotional baggage of my 20s.

My 'main character energy' is so strong, I don't just 'run errands.'

I'm performing a meticulously choreographed montage of purposeful strides set to an empowering indie soundtrack, culminating in me dramatically slamming my trunk closed and driving off into the sunset, even if it's 2 PM and I'm just going home with paper towels.

I spilled a tiny drop of coffee on my white shirt this morning.

I immediately pulled out my phone, composed myself, and filmed a dramatic monologue about the fragility of perfection, which I'm planning to submit to Sundance.