At Age 29, if you are me -
You develop strange, unannounced esophageal ailments that cause you to lose upwards of 20 pounds. (The weight, not the form of currency)
You wonder if there's a way to simultaneously live in N.Y. and Sweden.
You start to think there are no good men out there at all.
You feel a sudden, psychic, mysterious connection with everyone and everything around you - enemies, illnesses and poverty included, because what else would explain the shittiness of life?
You ponder the meaning of the word "crazy" for real, real.
You desire pound cake by the loaf.
You start sewing for no good reason.
You cut your own hair and don't even give a fucking fucking shit, god fucking dammit!
It's hair and it will grow back.
You buy necessities at the dollar store so you can save up for a medical procedure that your insurance won't cover.
You are criticized by people who wish they could fuck you or be you.
You are forced to quit drinking alcohol and smoking pot, two of the few things that brought some relief into your chaotic existence.
You start to achieve something that was thought to be impossible - like making a living writing songs about vaginas.
You degenerate a tiny, but important and key bit.