Wake up at 6:30 am, fairly certain this is the last day of your life. No reason, really, but you have some pretty bad heartburn and you’re tired and that feels the same as dying maybe, I dunno.
Don’t finish even one cup of coffee because you’re insane and haaaate microwaving it, but especially when it’s a new Starbucks cup that has a fancy design on the side that you’re pretty sure is going to spark in the microwave and burn the whole house down even though the bottom of the cup says “microwave safe.”
At noon, realize it’s probably not the day you’re going to die (um, YAY) since you’ve made it this far, so kick yourself for not going back to bed when you had the chance.
Eat a pepperoni sandwich for dinner because I guess you learn NOTHING from waking up at 6:30 am with heartburn, idiot.
Pull up to your 9:30 pm indoor soccer game even though you’re already super tired, thirty years old and just had a pepperoni sandwich, only to find the building surrounded by police, fire trucks and ambulances because a player went into cardiac arrest on the field while playing in the game before you.
Uuuugggghhh, revisit feeling like you’re going to die today.
Play/lose your game.
Rinse, repeat, wah wah.
It’s Saturday and I’m fine/alive/microwaved the mug without any sparks. More importantly – because, ya know, an actual real life thing that matters – the player who left in the ambulance is most likely fine because my husband saw him moving and talking to the first responders last night.