Zombie Mode at 2 AM

I was operating at zombie levels. Three finals, two essays, and a panic attack later, I'd survived the week from hell. My brain felt like microwaved mac and cheese—lumpy and kind of gross.

It was 2 AM when Luna decided to actually acknowledge my existence for the first time in three years. My cat, usually a supreme being of aloof judgment, jumped onto my desk and plopped her furry orange butt directly on my sociology textbook.

"Dude, come on," I groaned, trying to nudge her off. She purred like a tiny motor and extended claws into my notes.

That's when I started crying. Full ugly crying, the kind your friends roast you for later. Everything hit at once—my GPA was plummeting, my crush got a girlfriend, and I still had no clue who I was supposed to be.

Luna didn't bail. She just kneaded my arm with those murder mittens and stared at me with unimpressed yellow eyes, like she knew I was being dramatic but was tolerating it anyway.

"You're right," I sniffled. "This is embarrassing."

I grabbed my phone and texted Marcus: pool. now. bring chips.

We swam until our fingers pruned, floating on our backs and staring at the stars. The water was cold enough to shock me out of my funk.

"You good?" Marcus asked, doing a terrible backstroke.

"Nah," I said, splashing water at his face. "But I will be."

Sometimes you need to feel like a zombie to remember you're actually alive. And sometimes your cat—who literally hates everyone—decides to be your emotional support animal when you're spiraling at 2 AM. The universe is weird like that.

We dried off on the pool chairs eating stale Takis while the sun came up. I still had to face my parents about the D in chem, and my life was still a mess, but somehow I could handle it.

Baby steps, you know?