I am not a morning person. Once, I was supposed to meet up with someone for coffee. He suggested 8 a.m. I asked him if he knew who I was.
He then suggested 10 a.m.
So imagine how tough this week has been.
I know getting up at 6:30 isn’t that early. I know I should suck it up.
I know that 14- to 17-year-old me got up at 5 a.m. every day for four years. I know that 10-year-old me was so dedicated to Pokemon that I got up at 6 for a TV SHOW. (Sidenote: Maybe Herman Cain and I have something in common.)
But 23-year-old me is hurting. 23-year-old me has accepted that if I don’t die from exhaustion, I will die from my heart exploding of caffeine consumption.
23-year-old me is also a bit dramatic (probably just like any other version of me is).
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