Morning came too quickly, and as usual, I was in no hurry to face it. My alarm had been ringing for ten minutes, and the only reason I finally turned it off was that its persistence was starting to make me question my own stubbornness.

Another day, another battle with myself.

I sat up in bed, rubbed my face, and tried to convince myself that today would be different. Spoiler: it wouldn’t. My life had been on a downhill slide for a while now, and it felt like every day was just another attempt to survive the mess.

I live in a small apartment—nothing fancy, just a one-bedroom setup that’s more cluttered than cozy. My desk is covered with half-written notes, receipts, and the occasional mystery stain I’ve decided not to investigate. The sink? Let’s not even talk about the dishes.

I got ready in my usual half-hearted way. Brushed my teeth, threw on whatever didn’t smell too bad, and grabbed my backpack. Work wasn’t until noon, but I always tried to get out early to avoid sitting alone with my thoughts for too long.

The walk to the coffee shop down the street was the same as it always was—too many cars, too many people, and just enough chaos to remind me that the world doesn’t slow down for anyone. I stepped inside and ordered my usual: black coffee and a bagel.

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The barista, Clara, greeted me with her usual sarcasm.

“Rough night?” she asked, glancing at the dark circles under my eyes.

“Something like that,” I replied, though the truth was that every night felt rough these days.

I found my usual seat by the window and opened my notebook. I’d been meaning to start writing down everything that had happened to me over the past few years—just to make sense of it all—but every time I tried, the words wouldn’t come.

The truth is, my life reads like a bad soap opera. Relationships that ended before they began, jobs that barely paid the bills, friends who drifted away. And yet, somehow, things kept happening to me. Things I couldn’t explain.

Take last week, for example. I was walking home from work when I found myself in the middle of a full-blown street fight. I didn’t know the people involved, and I had no idea what started it, but somehow, I ended up being the one to break it up.

“Hey,” a voice interrupted my thoughts.

I looked up to see Clara standing there with a refill of coffee I hadn’t asked for. She sat down across from me, something she never did.

“You look like you need to talk,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

I opened my mouth to brush her off, but instead, the words spilled out before I could stop them.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” I said.

“Try me,” she replied.

And so, I began. I told her everything—the arguments, the accidents, the weird coincidences that kept piling up. I expected her to laugh, but she didn’t. She just listened.

When I finished, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“Sounds like you’ve been through hell,” she said. “But you’re still here.”

For the first time in a while, I smiled. Maybe I didn’t love my life, but at least it made for a good story.