My morning self is the worst me. I get up, and instantly my mind scans for something to dread for that day and latches onto it. That bad thought, being the first thing, is potent, like a morsel on an empty stomach. The light hurts.

My midnight self is the best me. Lying in bed, everything seems so possible and easy. I would go over my awesome plans and all paths are clear. I can’t wait for the morning to come.

I’ve gotten so bored of these moods—they are clockwork, and happen regardless, and super useless. Now, I try to pay attention only to feelings I’ve earned and cultivated. You can’t control your feelings, I still think this, but you can be discerning and trace back where they come from, and, even if you can’t do anything about them when they kick in, know which ones matter and which ones are just random-ass chemical reactions with no basis.