I’m suffering from this weird kind of extreme exhaustion. The kind that makes you feel a little bit like you’ve been hit by the Sweet Pickles Bus.

What? Just me? No one else remembers loving that commercial and calling the number and ordering the 40 books that came in the green bus? No one else’s mom got mad when she got the bill in the mail for said 40 books? No? Well, it seems that my addiction to ordering things off of tv infomercials started at a very, very young age. Did I tell you about the time I sponsored myself a child named Jane from Manila because it was only going to cost my mom the amount of one coffee a day—my mom drank about 7 cups of coffee a day, I was certain she’d want to sacrifice one of them for Jane from Manila.

It’s a sickness, really. An interesting fancy knife, weird bra-dickey thing, must-have vegetable chopper, exercise equipment, pancake pan-filled sickness.

But anyway, back to the tireds. I’m suffering, you guys. So, because I am really great at decisions, I have been doing this thing recently to keep myself from going to bed for the night at 6:45 in the evening. I have been getting myself a giant Starbucks Misto filled with EXTRA shots of espresso. After 7pm.

And then do you know what happens to me? Go on, guess.

I’m up at 3am watching a marathon of Duck Dynasty, which I didn’t think they had in Canada, but it exists here (much like the newly opening Target—tomorrow, kids!) and now I’m painfully addicted to all of the beards on this show.

Or I’m up getting all caught up on Sons of Anarchy which was really not a very wise planning choice because the new season doesn’t start until September and now I have to sit and wait out the months carrying a tremendous amount of anxiety on my back. Nail-biting finish, you guys.

Or I’m watching old episodes of Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared and marveling at all of the cameos I can find. Leslie Knope making out with Jax Teller! And crying that these shows only got themselves a single season. See also: My So-Called Life.

Or I’m fighting with Candy Crush because I was convinced that level 135 was unbeatable without buying boosters but I refuse to spend a single penny on this stupid game—it’s bad enough I have given up my life for it.

Or I’m doing New York Times Crossword puzzles and finding myself trying to figure out what the heck the answer to Classic verse that begins “Ah, broken is the golden bowl!” is without googling that shit because googling crossword puzzle clues is totally 100% cheating.

Or I’m making online fashion purchases and calling them research.

Or I’m ordering pancake pans. Or vegetable choppers. Or bra dickies. Or makeup that Cindy Crawford is pushing. Or Winsor Pilates. Or Sweet Pickles buses.

Only now the bills go to me instead of my mom.

Being a grown-up sucks sometimes.

But at least I get to have all the coffee I want. Even after 7pm. Because we know how well *that* turns out.