When I first pitched this idea it was supposed to be a joke, I thought to myself [read aloud in Cookie Monster fashion]: “haha dis a funny bit and I rely on external validation to live. Me want laughs. Me get laughs.” Hubris. Pure hubris. I thought all this crap would end with the first day of spring. I thought the sun would come back and I’d shed my seasonal depression like a drunk girl shimmying out of skinny jeans at the end of the night. I thought I could blame all my vices, all my misfortunes, on the dismal, Dante-esque circle of hell that is Ohio winter we all just slogged through, but instead I still wake up in the mornings, sun pouring through my window like what should be hot coffee, feeling like a Moxie turd crushed underfoot in the library pit.