"Storms, Sweat, and Slight Adulting"
Today felt like the universe triple-dog-dared me to be productive. Work was chaos. Not "oops-we’re-out-of-coffee" chaos. I’m talking full-on Black Friday-in-a-mall energy. People. Everywhere. Noise. Tasks multiplying like gremlins. You’d think my meat-cutting gig was hosting the Super Bowl of Steak. By the time I clocked out, I was mentally fried—but somehow still convinced myself to go to the gym. (Pause for applause. No, really. I deserve an Oscar for Best Performance in “Dragging My Ass to Cardio.”) The gym was a blur of sweat, headphones, and questioning all my life choices. But I showed up. I lifted. I did cardio. I left feeling like a soggy rotisserie chicken—but, like, a strong one. Once I got home, I was greeted by my dog, who was either happy to see me or just thrilled someone was finally going to feed him. We played for a few minutes—aka he zoomed around while I tried not to trip over my own legs—and then I fed him like the good dog parent I pretend to...