I've started sleeping on my couch to prevent the desire to sleep in. I'll determine whether this is fully successful after I do it without actually sleeping in. But hopefully, this way, sleeping in my bed is like some kind of weekend reward that I only get to do if I wake up without slamming my hand down on my alarm 10 (yep, seriously) times each morning and waking up an hour after originally intended. I rationalize this by telling myself that the people who live upstairs can hear it, and they deserve it for CLOMPING AROUND LIKE CLYDESDALE HORSES IN A BUDWEISER AD FROM SEVEN TO EIGHT EVERY MORNING AND NINE TO ELEVEN EVERY NIGHT. I don't understand how one, maybe two, people could possibly walk so much in a studio apartment. What are they doing? Where do they need to GO? What are they rolling around that is making that outrageous noise? I hate them. I don't think they can hear my alarm. There is zero justice in this world, and I am always running to work with that stupid nineties song about wishing your bed was already made blaring in my head. Like I even make my bed.

Today I told my boss that it is possible that some people might consider me to "have an embarrassing obsession with Lil' Wayne." She laughed, so I think that went okay.