A year ago today I was extremely hungover and woke up alone in Connecticut, in a bed that belonged to someone who I kicked out of it in the middle of the night, because I was uncomfortable sleeping on the floor. I cooked home fries for everyone and then vomited behind Sara’s elementary school and then pretended to be a dead fish falling into a pool all day. I was so blissfully happy and I think it’s important to realize that you can be miserable and happy at the same time, you can be the best or the worst and so can life and nobody is just one or the other at all times. Last night I got asshole drunk and kissed a dude I probably shouldn’t have and felt shitty about it and cried about not having a job and woke up a year later just as hungover. But it’s ok and I can still be happy and have a good day, I am allowed. I can feel like literal death and still mess around like a kid pretending to be a dead fish falling into a pool in pure bliss. The world will end and still restart in the morning.