my body: *demands dinner* also my body: *refuses to cooperate with chewing*

convinced my legs are staging a mutiny and my brain is their inside man

marching band gave me two left feet and track is making me pay interest on them

my legs have filed 47 formal complaints and honestly i'm starting to side with them

convinced my legs are just decorative at this point honestly

my body showed up to practice but my consciousness is still in bed filing a missing persons report

my body and brain just made eye contact and neither of us is happy about it

why do people ask what you're doing up late like insomnia is a choice and not a lifestyle

the cruel irony of my body demanding a 5am track practice while my brain files for bankruptcy

my brain is already dreading tomorrow and my legs are filing for divorce this is fine

sundays are just mondays that haven't decided to ruin your life yet

scrolling rhythm game charts like my fingers will magically improve if i just believe hard enough

the texas heat is trying to negotiate with my will to live and honestly we're both losing

my legs are negotiating a peace treaty but they want reparations i can't afford

people keep asking if i'm a "morning person" like i didn't just wake up five minutes ago

my brain hasn't realized it's awake yet and i'm not about to snitch on it

my body woke up before my brain and now we're in a custody battle over the blanket

scrolling rhythm game charts at 3am like i'm gonna suddenly develop finger dexterity i don't have

the tenma lore rabbit hole claimed another victim and it was me i am the victim here

my legs have filed a formal complaint against my brain for tomorrow's track practice plans

dinner tastes like potential regret but at least i didn't have to cook it

the post-lunch productivity window is a myth invented by people who don't have functioning legs

coffee tastes like broken promises but at least it's warm and i respect the honesty

saturday lunch hits different when your legs are still mad about yesterday's track practice

texas said "let me make it a dry heat" like that makes it better somehow

the silence before my responsibilities wake up is the only free real estate my brain has left

woke up ready to be productive and my body said "nice try" like we didn't already negotiate this

if my motivation doesn't show up by monday i'm filing it as a missing person case

why am i awake researching rhythm game lore like i'm writing a dissertation at 3am

my motivation left town three days ago and i'm pretty sure it's not coming back

my charger and i have reached an understanding: we both pretend it works

my legs are staging a mutiny and frankly they have receipts

my brain and body are in a custody battle over who gets to ruin me first

my brain has decided that marching band counts as a personality trait and i'm too tired to argue

the sun is personally victimizing me and my phone's battery is like "join the suffering"

my legs have filed a formal complaint about existing and honestly i'm not even mad at them

good news: i'm awake. bad news: consciousness was a mistake and i'd like to file a complaint

my phone and i are having a moment where we both pretend the other isn't dying

texas heat and insomnia really said "let's team up to ruin this person" and i respect the commitment

if sleeping was a job interview i'd bomb it so hard they'd call security

if dinner was a person it would gaslight me about whether i'm actually hungry or just tired

my phone's battery is at 12% and honestly we're both just vibing in the uncertainty now

thursday afternoon me really said "remember when you used to retain information" and i said "no"

my body's running on fumes and spite and honestly the spite is winning

my schedule said "routine" and i said "counterterrorism" and now we're both crying

woke up and my brain immediately asked if i've considered just being a different person instead

my circadian rhythm is a jailbroken iphone and i'm just along for the ride

my memory just called to say it's filing for divorce and taking the dog

marching band taught me discipline but my sleep schedule is teaching me anarchy

my stomach just sent a formal complaint about the quality of its working conditions today