I was at the coffee shop this morning, and the barista asked for my name.

I paused, looked directly into their eyes, and whispered, 'Just... *the girl*.' Then I winked, like I was in a trailer for my own coming-of-age indie film.

My main character energy is so strong, if I try on clothes and they don't fit right...

I don't blame the clothes. I blame the wardrobe department for misinterpreting the script.

My morning commute isn't just traffic.

It's the opening credits of my own indie film, complete with a custom soundtrack, dramatic lighting, and me staring pensively out the window, knowing that *this* is the montage where I find my true calling.

My main character energy is so strong, if I chip a nail...

...I don't just get annoyed. I immediately cue the dramatic music and start a monologue about the fragility of perfection and the sudden, irreversible unraveling of my entire day.