My coffee machine decided to stop working this morning.

So, I stood there, dramatically caressed the cold metal, and delivered a five-minute monologue to it about betrayal, loss, and the cruel indifference of a world without caffeine, as if I were starring in a prestige drama.

I've started following all the fashion bloggers who post about 'aging gracefully' and 'embracing my natural beauty'

which is just code for 'I'm 30 now and have to buy better moisturizer'

He had 'Lover of good vibes and positive energy' in his Instagram bio.

His last five stories were screenshots of petty arguments in his group chat.

My cat just knocked over a vase and shattered it on the floor.

I immediately started narrating the scene in my head, a detached, melancholic voice-over, musing on the fragility of beauty and the chaos of existence, as if I were in a French art house film.