So here I am, eyes barely open, caffeine on IV drip and in Red Bull cans, and wondering if this “new normal” everyone’s been promising is some cosmic joke. The days blur together like a bad TV marathon—no season finale in sight. Remember when “normal” meant something? Me neither. It’s been that long.

I haven’t even had time to check the news, which, let’s be honest, might be a blessing. Ignorance isn’t bliss, but it’s certainly less exhausting than doomscrolling through the latest existential crisis. I used to keep up, I swear. But now, even glancing at a headline feels like a workout, and my brain’s in the corner refusing to do another rep.

Here’s the kicker: I’m tired of waiting for “normal” to show up at my door like a long-lost Amazon package. But if the past year and a half has taught me anything, it’s that normal is a shape-shifter—sometimes it’s a shadow, sometimes it’s a mirage. Lately, it’s felt more like Bigfoot: everyone talks about it, but no one’s actually seen it.

So what do you do when you’re beat, and that new normal is still MIA? You redefine it. My new normal is accepting that some days are just about survival. No grand plans, no high expectations. Just making it to the end of the day without unraveling.

And hey, if today’s victory is simply not losing my keys (again), I’ll take it. Because maybe normal isn’t a destination; maybe it’s just the tiny moments where we find a little peace in the chaos. Or at least a hot cup of coffee.

And until that normal shows up, I’ll be here, tired but still kicking—because I’m nothing if not persistent.