Days Like These.

I hate waking up tired. The mood taints everything onward. Even though the day itself brought no calamities, and even some points of pleasure, I was beaten low by the end of it.

A disappointing lip gloss. An inability to find The New Yorker on sale. Having to wait three days until vacation. My pizza order forgotten. . . really, these were the extent of my troubles.

Yet I was morose and exhausted by 5pm. Right now I despair that tomorrow will be any cheerier.

But fuck, I better get my attitude adjusted before the universe sends me something real to sweat.