I was parallel parking yesterday, which, for me, is usually a low-stakes exercise in mild panic.

But with my main character energy, I reversed so slowly and deliberately, eyes narrowed, as if I were a master spy expertly maneuvering a getaway vehicle to a dramatic orchestral score only I could hear.

I'm not just running late for work, I'm

orchestrating a thrilling, against-all-odds, commute-as-action-movie sequence, complete with a pulse-pounding soundtrack and an Oscar-worthy monologue about the tribulations of public transportation.

I was trying to open a jar of pickles yesterday, and it just wouldn't budge.

I didn't just struggle; I dropped to my knees, looked up at the ceiling, and delivered a full Shakespearean monologue about the futility of human endeavor against the unyielding forces of the universe, all to the backdrop of a soaring orchestral score only I could hear.

I went to the grocery store to pick up some milk, but as I was walking down the aisle, I felt the urge to add some flair to my shopping experience.

So, I started voicing my inner monologue out loud, 'I'll just grab this gallon of 2%... the choice of a woman who's given up on love, but still holds on to hope... and also needs cereal for the week.'