I’ve got that stupid Beyonce lyric in my head.

(Those pajamas look terribly uncomfortable.)

I dunno why. Certainly not a desire to partake in the hashtag meme – ‘cause my wakeup’s are far from Sleeping Beauty post coma selfie worthy. At least, I assume they are. I had the mirror removed from the ceiling over my bed after Patrick Bateman and I broke up so there’s no way of knowing for sure what’s going on lately. I’m kinda going based on the misfortune befalling my mind and body. And taking an auto-snap isn’t the remedy. I mean, if I started out my day knowing for sure that I look exactly how I feel, then I’d never bother even getting outta bed and hitting the yoga mat, much less enduring a day. At least there’s that one percent of deluded hope that I’m having a by-freak-accident Princess Aurora moment and what a shame ‘cause there’s no one’s there to witness it. So, I can only assume this line doing laps in my mind is merely meant to taunt me. Because today, not only do I feel like I didn’t wake up remotely Beyonce – I feel like I barely woke up at all. (Probably cuzza my caffeine OD yesterday.) Sure, part of me wondered if this is one of those “get a song out of your head by singing it” things. Like if I do the actual “I woke up like this” selfie thing, maybe the lyrics’ll disappear? Since singing it isn’t helping? But then, my follow-up thought to that was: No. Why? Same reason I used to set my alarm half an hour before my sweetly slumbering ex would awake: to deflate my face, apply my war paint, and summon a cloaked teleporting fairy godmother to handle the rest. There’s no Beyonce happening here when this bish wakes up. Even a permanent version of her Superbowl caveman’s O face would be more forgiving than what I deal with during those initial moments of consciousness.

Don’t believe me?

Then, enjoy this list comprising all the more honest, opposite of flawless things “I woke up like” today.

And yesterday.

And the day before.

1.) I woke up like: an abandoned shih-tzu

It doesn’t matter what I do before bed. Inevitably, I can count on having transmogrified into a Rastafarian Medusa by the next time my eyes open. Why? Is it witchcraft? Yes. Obviously. I mean that seems to be the most logical and only explanache. Definitely not my own doing. Definitely not the ramifications anyone endures after bleaching the hell out of their mane since puberty.

2.) I woke up like: Emily Rose

I’m starting to think it’s a waste of time – all that stretching I do before I go to sleep. I spent about an hour before bedtime last night unwinding my obstinate scoliatic backbone only to awaken as one strand of a life sized DNA helix this morning. And spend another hour repeating my efforts from eight hours ago. Eff that noise. I could be spending that hour catching up on Adventure Time episodes if I’mma wake up possessed by demon-Legion every morning anyway.

3.) I woke up like: Batman’s Nemesis

God forbid I forget to wash off the day’s makeup. If that happens, I can count on ending up with the Joker version of Forrest Gump’s muddy happy face tee-shirt on my pillowcase. I can also count on spending the first thirty minutes of my morning scouring the lash asphalt (see: mascara) from my face till I’ve traded in the look of racoon for rosacea. Really, they should sell that gravely, skin stripping auto mechanic scrub at Sephora for such occasions as these. Sure, I’ll come out looking like a flesh peeled Hellraiser victim, but I feel like the time I’ll have saved’ll be worth it.

4.) I woke up like: Busey and the Blowfish

What is it about nightly sightless recharging in a cushioned chamber that leaves me looking like a puffer fish crossed with someone who’s been dead in the ocean for a week? And who am I referencing here – Gary? Or that creature that’s turning him around in his hands? We’ll go with both for now.

5.) I woke up like: a livid leviathan prehistoric monster

I feel it’s imperative to mention that the mood matches the terrifying façade about 100 percent of the time. (Ya know, for anyone ever considering to bother me before my sunrise ritual of lassoing my soul back into the carnal marionette I reluctantly live in.) Also worth mentioning? Note that seeing a mirror first thing isn’t helping our short-armed, ambulatory, skyscraper with scales here. I can identify and a half with that. And, somehow, I don’t think a captured moment of that reflection shared with the world would feel any better.

Yeah. Think I’ll just wait patiently for this pointless melody meme to tire itself out in my gyri gym.