“Come on, give me a smile!” I was hungover and hiding behind sunglasses. The Starbucks barista was the only thing standing between me and my morning coffee, so I tried my best. “Have a nice day, and don’t forget to think positive!” Since moving to Los Angeles, my pre-latte existential crises were becoming more frequent. I was dealing with a pile of rejections, lack of friends, an empty savings account, three flat tires, a then-boyfriend who said he “couldn’t do commitment,” and a text from my mom saying the family pug died.
But faking good cheer for a caffeine hit didn’t make me feel better. It only made me feel more “positive” that I wanted to punch him in the face.
Read more: Elle.com