Waking Up.

I hate it. Every morning. Every single morning.

I think about how much I hate it as hit my alarm six times and get six terrible seven-minute increments of half-sleep instead of actually getting up.

I think about how picking out an outfit is the bane of my existence and I wish I could just roll out of bed and wear my men's XL boxers with a legit hole in the front and an orange and black skull pattern to work. And my see-through t-shirt from the thrift shop that I'm pretty sure I never washed before wearing the first time. And no mascara even though when I don't put it on people think I'm sick because my eyelashes are blonde and basically invisible to the naked eye and I guess I'm pizzazzless without it.

I'd rather look like that than get up.

Sometimes I do look like that. And I have to rely on my wit and charm to get me through the day. And it often fails me.