Y'ALL. In an exceptionally uncharacteristic turn of events, my friends and I stayed out until 3 o'clock in the morning last night. And oh my lord, let me TELL you. At thirty-one, I am no longer equipped to live my life at this level of debauchery. And I am not built for 3 AM nights any more.

It's not even like I'm moaning and groaning right now because I'm hungover. As last night's DD, I don't even have a hangover.

What's killing me (and my will to live) right now is the fact that I just have zero energy whatsoever. 

Looking for my will to live right now like...

After getting home from the bar, I don't think I fell asleep until somewhere around 4:30 AM. And then I forced myself up and out of bed around 8:30 because I didn't want to spend all day sleeping. That was a truly soul-crushing alarm to set in the wee hours of the morning.

Sigh. So now here I am, writing this post from the gym parking lot. With bags under my eyes, a croak to my voice, and zero motivation to walk inside in my heart.

Feeling like my very soul has had the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost drained from it. Hoping and praying this double shot of pre-workout I took fifteen minutes ago will have ANY effect on me whatsoever. But at this point, I think I'm just accepting the fact that today I'm destined to workout with brain fog.

And as it turns out, I'm not the only one riding upon the struggle bus this morning. Halfway through my workout, I received this text from one of my fellow merry-goers from last night.

Welcome to your thirties, gal. 👋🏼 👋🏼

Yawn. Oh, how we, the mighty, have fallen. At least we looked good.

Safe to say, I feel a big midday nap coming on later today.