In my free time, I see myself living in a motivational movie. The scene starts with me waking up at 5 AM, full of energy, like I’m powered by the sun itself. I roll out my yoga mat on a mountaintop (don’t ask how I got there), stretching like a peaceful yogi while birds sing around me. After that, I whip up a perfect breakfast—avocado toast and green juice, of course. Then, I put on my running shoes and run 10 kilometers without breaking a sweat, smiling and waving at random people like I’m in a toothpaste ad.

The music swells as the montage shows me reading books, journaling deep thoughts, and working on my bestselling novel. I picture myself on stage, accepting an award for being the most productive human alive. My speech is flawless, the applause never ends, and even the trophy sparkles as if it knows it’s in the right hands.

Then, just as I’m about to finish my victory lap, reality hits. I hear someone shouting, “Hey, are you going to wake up, or should I vacuum around you?” That’s when the daydream bubble pops. I realize I’m still lying on the couch, in my pajamas, holding a half-eaten bag of chips. Crumbs are everywhere—on me, on the couch, and probably in places I’ll discover next week.

My ‘bestselling novel’? It’s the list of snacks I’ve been planning to try. My workout? Reaching for the remote without spilling the chips. And that shiny trophy? Let’s just say it would probably go to my cat for having better posture than me. Turns out, my only real achievement is perfecting the art of doing absolutely nothing while dreaming about everything.

But hey, at least my imagination is in great shape.