Gonna share a few things with you before the serious angsting and rambling begins.

First, a link to a page full of links to browser based emulators for 7 different versions of the Mac and Windows operating systems.

I am not much for nostalgia myself, but I imagine that a lot of people would find much pleasure in poking around in operating systems from a simpler and more innocent time.

Of course, I am not immune to nostalgia. I fought it for a long time because I wanted to remember that my childhood sucked and my life got a lot better after around grade six.

In fact, I was on a seven year winning streak before my parents took me out of college. Every year between grade six and that, life had gotten better for me.

But still, my childhood was pretty unpleasant overall. I was alone and isolated for much of it, raised by TV and video games and books. And so I vowed as a child that I would never look back on all of it and say it was the best time of my life.

Because seriously, if that was the best my life could get, shoot me in the fucking head right now.

But nostalgia caught up with me eventually. It just had to build up enough emotional potential to completely overwhelm my nitpicking consciousness and its silly ideas.

So for five years or so now, whenever something references the mid to late seventies in a way that I recognize from my childhood, I am flooded with a wave of nostalgia, intense but still quite pleasant, and I feel the sunshine and smell the pavement and hear the bicycle spokes and roller skates of my early childhood.

I think of hot summer days wandering the neighborhood, climbing trees and investigating manholes and watching construction workers work and all those other universal Bradbury things that change very little over the decades.

The technology might change, society might change, but the basic patterns of human life remain exactly the same. We are born, we mature from helpless infants awash in undifferentiated experience into energetic little critters crawling around and figuring out that whole walking thing, and then into the curious and exploratory toddlers and little ones devouring the world in whale sized bites.

And no matter how rotten (or wonderful) your childhood was, you still made the passage from unconsciousness into sentience like all humans must, and that, in my opinion, is one of the things that unites us not just as humanity but as human.

No baby animal is at the top of the food chain. We are all prey when we are young. We all had to figure out a scary and complicated world full of forces beyond our comprehension. We all had no choice but to trust in our caretakers, no matter how worthy they were of that trust, because were so small and knew so little.

Infants can’t shop around.

Some people never truly get past that stage. They never achieve the state of reason where they are confident in their own ability to create their own understanding of reality. They never develop the confidence in their own mental faculties to decide for themselves what is right and wrong or what is real or not, and so they live their whole life just getting their worldview from whomever seems smart and nice and familiar to them.

These people are largely, but far from exclusively, conservatives.

The other thing I want to share today is this rather naughty but ever so sexy bit of video magic.

Warning, NSFW, male butt.

And what a butt. Drool. I would pay 100 dollars cash to learn that magic trick.

I share not just because it is sexy fun, but because I am not sure how the heck they did it.

The only sense I can make of it is that it only looks handheld. A trick like that absolutely requires the camera to remain in exactly the same position while the actor disrobes and then gets back into exactly the same position, ready to look surprised.

And there’s just no way that any human pair of hands could hold still enough for long enough to put it off. So my theory is that the camera is on a tripod, and the person with the hands is just turning it on that tripod.

That would explain why the hands are so far apart. It’s that, or the guy has arms that could hug a Redwood.

It still would be tricky to get the guy back into the exact same position. I am not exactly sure how you would know when you had it right. Maybe modern camcorders have a function that lets you compare your current view with a frame from a previously recorded bit of video.

If so, party on, man. That would be SO fun to play with.

Let’s see. Those are the two things I felt like sharing. Everything is going keenly chez moi. Tried to download Injustice : Gods Among Us, a game for Android, but it wants a LOT of space for my poor little four gig tablet, so I had room for the game but not the enormous update.

And sadly, the Galaxy Tab 2 is one of those tablets where you cannot install apps to an SD card. I have plenty of room on my 24 gig SD card but no dice. I suppose it’s a security thing. If you can’t install apps to an SD card, that means the system will never execute anything from an SD Card and people can’t fuck with your tablet by slipping an infected SD card in there.

But it’s very annoying to have such harsh limits on the apps I can have. It pretty much means that I can’t install anything without uninstalling something else first and that is very annoying.

Oh well. Tonight, I will do dinner at ABC with my friends, then the BCSFA meeting.

For me, that is a social whirlwind of Biblical proportions.

Seeya tomorrow folks!

My digestive issues sorted themselves out for the most part. No more trouble in the engine room, at least for now. Trying to remember to take things slow and careful, but it’s not easy when you are accustomed to eating in front of Netflix and not thinking about it.

So I end up inhaling my food. Apparently, that is my default form of eating. If I remember, I can eat like a human being, if not, I might as well be the vacuum cleaner elephant from the Flintstones. Harsh.

I will do my best to chill with the food Hoovering. I just have to pay attention to what I am doing.

That’s the thing about being an introverted and introspective kind of dude. I have such a strong preference for inner life versus outer life that I try to do things, actual physical things, with as little thought as I can possibly get away with so it doesn’t sap those precious, precious mental clock cycles.

As a result, we are clumsy and uncoordinated and dreamy and absentminded and distant. A lot of the endemic problems of being a dreamer can be traced directly to this deep prioritization of inner life.

It is also, of course, the source of our greatest strengths. It takes that kind of inner focus to big a great thinker. An extroverted and extrospective person is too busy experiencing and processing external reality to have the mental space free for the sort of deep contemplations, that grand process of slowly integrating all you know together in search of fresh connections, that are required in order to create original visions.

There are the thinkers, and there are the doers. The world needs both. Without the doers, nothing gets done.

Without the thinkers, a lot gets done but it’s all stupid.

And me, I am very very much a thinker. I think it was my way of escaping reality as a child. I retreated into my mind. But not in a Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes or Walter Mitty way.

I just thought about things. To this day, I find it hard to describe the inner workings of my mind. If I am left to my own devices, in a situation where I have nothing to occupy my mind and I just have to sit and wait, my mind definitely turns inward. And I have an inner monologue like everyone else.

And like everyone else, it cuts in and out depending on what my mind is doing at that point. Must people don’t quite realize this, but a mind at rest shifts between what we might call subverbalized thought and periods of no verbal anything at all.

These are the times of truly deep contemplation. It is this state of mind that various forms of prayer and meditation access, as well as a few of the really good drugs. It is often referred to as a clear mind, a blank mind, a mind without thought, and so on.

But that is mistaking the tip for the iceberg. A mind without thought would be dead. Literally… a flatlined EEG is the legal definition of death in most of the civilized world.

What we are talking about instead is a state of no conscious thought. Without the burden of conscious thought, the mind can devote all its CPU to the sort of deep integration that our chattering, nattering conscious minds often make impossible.

Thus, the mind is able to resolve a lot of the conflicts within it, defrag the mental hard drive, clear orphaned processes out of its RAM, and finish processing the backlog of emotions that the conscious mind won’t let it process because they are unpleasant. If the process ever truly completes, the backlog is eliminated, and in my opinion, that’s when you achieve Enlightenment.

That’s why these sort of consciousness free can make a person feel so much better. Sudden you have a brain that works so much better, like a computer with a fresh install, and this, of course, makes you incredibly loyal to the method by which you achieved it. Addicted, even.

Which is great if what does it for you is Thoreau style communion with nature in solitude or transcendental meditation or hours of prayed and fasting.

Not so great if you are doing it will alcohol, drugs, sex, high-risk behaviour, or other destructive means.

This is also the secret behind The Zone,. The reason a human being is happiest when they are operating at their full capacity is that this occupies their entire conscious mind and lets the subconscious mind sort things out.

When we operate at full capacity, you reach a state of neurochemical balance between arousal (adrenaline etc) and calmness (oxytocin etc). Happiness, in this case, is having both of those systems turned up to 11, but still in perfect balance with each other.

Back to introversion. Having read this far (thank you!), you might be tempted to think “Well fuck the conscious mind, let’s all just sit down, blank out, and get happy. ”

But that would not work. The mind still needs things to process, after all. It needs stimulation or it goes dormant, as anyone who has been stupefied by a really boring lecture can tell you.

And despite what us introspective types may think, the mind cannot begin to provide enough stimulation for itself. It needs constant input from the five senses in order to stay alive, even if that input is largely ignored by a conscious mind that is too busy exploring its own contents to pay attention to, you know, reality.

Remember, all you strict rationalists, that even stimulation via reading is stimulation via the senses. Even if you lead a cloistered life of Internet and video games like I do, all your stimulation is still via the senses.

So, you know, we still need reality for that.

For now, at least.

Coming to you from his nano-sealed brain chamber, this is your faithful (ish) blogger signing off for today.

Having trouble with my IBS right now. My Bs are very I, and it’s making me S. (Sad.)

The usual suspects have been rounded up and found guilty on summary judgment. I ate supper too fast (a habit I fall into slowly over time until something like this comes to slap some sense in to me), supper included a carbonated beverage (not a prime cause ut never helpful in these cases), and a new contender, supper was canned chili, which normally does not bother my system apart from a little extra gas. But it was no doubt the instigator of this particular gastrointestinal clusterfuck.

Then again, this sort of thing was building up over the last week. Wednesday night, my watching Daily Show plus Colbert with Joe and Julian (aka J&J) was curtailed by an attack of the I to the B of the S. Normally I consider that time to be sacred, and the highlight of my day. But my B had other ides.

So something is up inside me for sure. I have had a few allergy attacks lately, and that might not be a coincidence. I have this theory (of course I have a theory) that a lot of my physical complaints are the result of an aggressive and excessive body-wide inflammatory response set off by my allergy attacks.

It makes sense. Joint pain, irritable bowels, sinus blockages… these could all be the result of widespread inflammation. Research has been pointing to inflammation due to an out of control immune system attacking the body’s own tissues as potentially being the culprit in a lot of illnesses. Perhaps I have the same problem, but at a histamine level.

Certainly, I have felt unwell lately. IBS aside, I have been having trouble with lack of appetite and generally feeling pretty icky in the tummy. My stomach has been going crazy acidic lately, enough to scare me. And my bacl has been killing me, even more than it usually does.

So something is off. Waaaay off. Not for the first time in my life, I wish there was a human body shop where you could go for a biological tune-up. Check your fluids, rebalance your inner ear, clean everything out. All while you wait! Or even while you sleep.

Imagine that. You wake up feeling fresh and healthy and hydrated in a comfy bed. I would pay $100, no prob.

Not often, mind you. But whenever I could!

But back to my actual suffering. I think part of the problem is that I am dehydrated. (Just add water.. instant Fru. ) My shift to spending most of my computer time on my tablet and hence in my bed has put a major crimp on my usual habit of more or less constant hydration, and I think my body is rebelling against that. I will have to work harder to give my body plenty of fluids for flushing out toxins.

Darn those naughty toxins. Always ruining things. They are just so darn pesky!

The whole idea of ridding yourself of toxins has come under attack from the pack of gleeful fucktards who call themselves “skeptics” lately. They decry it as pseudoscience and ask where are these mysterious “toxins” and how can you scientifically prove they are gone?

To them, I ask, “Why do you think we have kidneys? To filter out toxins! Both the ones that our bodies produce as a by-product of metabolism and the ones we get from eating and breathing in this filthy world.

From there, it is but a small step to imagine that sometimes our kidneys don’t get it all and some of those toxins end up in our tissues anyhow, and fuck things up. Add in the vast number of bizarre and unnatural (but wonderful) thing we touch all the time and the microparticles of everything everywhere that we inhale all the time and it seems to be quite plausible to imagine that a slow but steady buildup of toxins our bodies were not evolved to handle could give a person a feeling of overall malaise and physical depression.

That said, I am sure there is a lot of voodoo and woowoo mixed in with this idea. I am sure a lot of people are sold a lot of treatments that either do nothing except via placebo effect, or make people feel better in a lot of the old standbys of fad health “cures” : a diuretic to flush you out, a laxative to empty you out, a broad spectrum multivitamin to top you up, and of course, a stimulant to perk you up.

All of those can be found in any number of “natural” cures, and so the sellers of these odd cures are not necessarily mustachioed villains selling quack nostrums out of the back of their snake oil wagons.

Like healers of ages past, they put together something they think will work, get people to try it, some of those people get marvelous results and clamor for more, and so they make more and sell it suddenly they have a business.

As far as they can tell, it works. They don’t need to know why. Sure, in a perfect world, I suppose they would be all scientific and figure out which are the active ingredients (if any) and subject them to rigorous testing, and blah blah blah.

But not everyone can do that, and in my opinion, if someone feels bad, takes a treatment, and feels better, that is actual medicine even if scientifically it’s hogwash.

If you truly are a healer, then all you care about is making people feel better, and thus, you are willing to do whatever it takes to achieve that goal, and if that means the old sugar pill (or in my case, sucralose pill), then so be it.

A lot of times, what people really need is to know someone cares. The adult equivalent of your mother kissing your boo-boos to make them better.

It was never the chemical properties of the kiss that made it feel better.

It was the love.

I’ve only been back to writing 1000 words a day for three days (including today), and already I’m getting restless.

I had a real moment earlier today that put it all in focus. I was lounging about, playing games on my tablet like I usually do, and I suddenly thought “This is it? Is this my life? Video games and a blog only read by my friends? That is my whole life now?”

And it’s just not enough. I feel now like I am coming back to life after being strangely dormant for around a month or so. I feel like I somehow fell off the edge of the world and only now have I found my way back.

The fog is still there, of course. It’s always there, patiently waiting for the next time I can’t handle reality any more and I fall back into its chill embrace to numb me out and shut out the world.

I have sacrificed my life to that fog, but an internal addiction is the hardest kind to kick. I don’t have to go to the liquor store or the dealer or even the grocery store in order to get my fix. I just have to… let go, and let myself dissolve into a tiny little me in a vast sea of fog.

This is what has kept me from making progress for all these years of wasted life. The longer I try to keep myself together, the greater the temptation to just let go becomes and I revert to the lifestyle and mindset of a child who has nothing to do but entertain themselves until it’s time for school.

But school never comes.

I often think of how amazing it is that someone can be extraordinarily intelligent and capable of astounding feats of cogitation and creativity, and yet still be profoundly immature and painfully childish on an emotional level. Common sense would seem to say that if a person is smart and wise enough to write beautifully or make profound statements about the nature of life or any other of a baker’s dozen of mental miracles, one would have to have grown up enough to really understand the world.

We tend to assume, in essence, that mental maturity and emotional maturity are either the same, or at least closely linked. But I can attest, brothers and sisters, that this is not the case.

Mentally speaking, I am freaking amazing. I am smart as hell and get smarter every day. There are times when I frighten myself with this feeling of mental power. Scares the hell out of me.

But emotionally speaking I am still a wounded and broken child scared of everything because to him, the world stop being a safe place very early in life.

And I can feel that inside me. I can feel that my heart is frozen and my soul too small for the mind it is supposed to inhabit. I can feel the pain and the weakness and the dead cold fear deep in the heart of my psyche. The kind of fear that freezes you in place, paralyzing you with terror too great to be pinned to any one source.

That fear lives within me in a place without light, without air, without sound, and without hope. IT floats in interstellar space, surrounded by stars whose light has traveled too far to provide warmth. It longs to thaw and be real once more, not suspended halfway through a primordial scream but alive and vital and filled with hope, faith, joy, and overflowing vigor.

But it can’t pay the price. As much as it long to melt and flow, it know that the coldness at its heart serves a purpose : to numb out enough of that deep deep pain to reduce it to a dull throbbing ache that can, with considerable sacrifice, be endured.

If it melted, it would have to feel all that pain frozen in its ice, and by now it feels like there is so much of it that to release it would mean total annihilation.

So it just floats there between the stars, surviving, but only just.

It frightens me sometimes to think about how deep the numbness goes and how little of the emotional world I can feel as a result. I get the feeling that the freeze happened when I was molested, and I wasn’t even school age yet then. And so for most of my life I have been extremely dead inside.

There could have been all kinds of people who would have helped me if I asked for it, but when you are cold inside you can’t connect with people and they can’t connect with you, and connection is the beginning of compassion.

Nobody wants to connect with the frozen fish, and no matter how badly that fish wants to connect to others, the frozen nature of its existence makes it nearly impossible.

I have been so cold for so long. So many people tried to connect with me, but I was just too emotionally distorted to connect back. I tried, but it was just not in the cards.

Big brains don’t help. Not with the stuff that really matters. I feel like all I have is tricks and illusions, impressive but ultimately just smoke and mirrors.

I’m not smart. I’m just clever. And cleverness is almost always futile.

That’s why the metaphor of the wizard keeps coming back to me. In D&D, the wizard is very powerful, but also very weak, and so they have to be supported and protected by the stronger and more capable characters.

Well I take it to the extreme in that I am not just physically weak but my vast powers are kind of hard to tap into because of my mental and physical issues.

So I am a wizard without spells, or at least, I have been for a long time.

For most of my life, all I have had to show the world was my vast potential.

God I hate that word.

Today was better than yesterday. Still not back into fighting trim, but better.

The best thing about today is that I went out. I didn’t go far, just to the strip mall next door, but baby steps.

I had lunch at the A&W. My usual mozza burger, although this time, just to switch things up, I had it with onion rings instead of fries. Any little thing I can do to push back on the carb addiction is a good thing.

And of course, A$W has kickass onion rings. Technically, I replaced 80 percent of the carbs from fries with grease from the onion rings, but what the heck.

It is important, vitally important, that I learn to please myself. To bring pleasure and joy into my life of my own volition and through my own effort. This passivity isn’t going to fix itself, after all. (Irony intended. )

And I can afford it. I am doing quite well, financially speaking, this month. Even after today’s purchases, I still have around $160 left in my wallet, and only a week to go before my next cheque. (They’re big enough to be cheques now. Before, they were just checks. )

I am hoping to still have $100 to my name when the next cheque cometh. That way I can add that to the hundred or so I was already planning to put on my credit card to use for online purchases.

Oh right, purchases. The point of my excursion today was not just to have a greasy but satisfying lunch. The real goal was Safeway, where I bought the same assortment of iced confections as I bought before.

You see, Safeway has this wonderful line of sugar free ice cream treats, and once I finally realized “hey, I can actually afford to buy things like this for myself!”, I bought a batch.

One box each of fudgesicles, ice cream cones (Cornettos for you UK folks), and ice cream sandwiches. Eighteen little desserts in total. And they are not cheap, sadly. Each box of six cost me eight bucks. That’s $1.33 per treat, and seeing as my price point for those kind of things was set when I was a child, that seems like a lot to me. Probably a lot less than you would pay at 7/11 these days, but still.

Totally worth it, though. The first time I did this, I found myself in a much better mood as a result. The power of small pleasures is truly amazing. I used to pooh-pooh the idea of cultivating small pleasures as being lame and boring and sad and tragically unambitious.

But I see the wisdom now. Little pleasures might not blow you to the back of the wall with ecstasy, but they are always there and each one activates the reward center of the brain and thus not only gives us pleasure, it makes us feel like we are good people, that we have been rewarded.

I swear, looking for that feeling of reward is the answer to 90 percent of addiction. When society, the world, and life in general does not give you that feeling of being rewarded and thus being a good member of the tribe, we find other ways of getting it.

Some of these are healthy and good…. and some are unhealthy and self-destructive. When you use anything, whether it’s a drug or a hobby or an obsession, to fill the gaping hole in yourself, self-destruction is the default ending. When you shove things into that hole…. it gets bigger.

I completely understand how it happens, though. Depression is starvation of the soul, and when you are starving you will do whatever it takes to eat again, even if it is going to kill you.

So you definitely cannot afford to put all your eggs in one pleasure basket. No pleasure, no matter how wonderful, no matter how much of a godsend it seems, no matter how brightly it shines in the darkness of your soul, can be the be-all and end-all for all your needs.

And if you try to force it to be, you will destroy it… but it will take you down with it.

I seem to have wandered off into philosophy, as usual. Where was I… oh right, buying the ice cream type treats. The fact that I made my little excursion completely on my own initiative is also keenly important.

I wanted something, so I went and got it. It sounds so simple but it means so much compared to my history of parasitic passivity. I didn’t have to go to Safeway today. There would have been no consequences to staying home instead. But I went anyhow, because despite not having to go, I wanted to go, and every time I invest effort into getting what I want is a small victory against my depressive lassitude.

And it really is an investment. You put effort in to get pleasure out. I invested the effort it took (both physical and emotional) to make the trip, and that investment will pay off in eighteen pleasant desserts.

Joy will not come to you. You have to go and get it. Depression makes you so conservative that you are unwilling to invest any effort whatsoever in things which do not have a guaranteed huge payout right away.

But it’s not really about effort and reward. It’s about finding a way to live life that works for you. If you are happier in motion, stay in motion. Do whatever work is required to stay happy. Do not assume that the ideal life would be one in which you didn’t have to move at all.

That is a dream of infancy. Only infants get to have everything they need and desire brought to them while others do all the work of life and leave them with no decisions to make, no effort to invest, no work to do, just have everything taken care of by others.

It is most definitely not the dream of an adult.

Adults want to live.

At least for now.

Yes, I finally finished my third and final edit of my boo, The Scrambled Man.

And I can tell you this : I am *never* going that long without writing ever again. I have felt like crap for all of 2014 and the tail end of 2013 as well, and I think it’s because I have lacked an outlet for my overwhelmingly intense creative energies, and I am damned sick of it.

So here’s the deal : I will not even look at the damned book for a week. I vow to completely ignore the thing until next Tuesday, or possibly Wednesday morning depending on how my timetable works out.

Starting tonight, I am going back to 1000 words a day as well. It is amazing how much harder it feels to come up with the words now that I have (very stupidly) gotten out of practice for more than a month. It will be some time before I get my writing muscles back into condition.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Oh well, live and learn.

So what’s been up since I talked to you people last… let’s see. Well, the holidays happened, of course. They went fairly well. No major depressive episodes. Those would, interestingly enough, wait until the new year.

Because I have been feeling truly terrible lately, folks. All cold and lonely and detached and lost and dead inside. I keep asking myself why I do anything and what the point of my life is, and that is, generally speaking, a very unhealthy line of thought for yours truly.

But I know it can be different. I have had days when I was perfectly content with my life and viewed the future with happiness and hope instead of the cold hard terror that usually scares me back into my usual state of nonstop distraction seeking. No thought to future, past, or present. Just videos games and meals and the Internet, all day, every day, till the day I die a sad and unlettered death.

Well fuck that. I have to go back to purposeful action before I fall off the end of the Earth.

And I know it is going to be hard at first. I have lost all my momentum and so I will have to generate escape velocity before I can truly get back on track. And the thing about that is that at first, the rocket barely seems to move at all, and if you are a broken toy like me, you might conclude that “nothing is happening” and that therefore “nothing is going to happen” and it’s just “not working” and “not worth it”.

That is why it is so important to find the simplest, most basic pleasures in things. The spoonful of sugar, and all that. Sure, keep your long term goals firmly in mind. But you can’t do things for long term reasons only, not if you want to keep on doing them. You have to find more reward in the things necessary for said goals than just the cold satisfaction of progress.

That’s why successful writers view it as a compulsion, I think. You do not need extrinsic motivation in order to satisfy a compulsion. Satisfying them is its own motivation. Scratching that itch is its own motivation. It either feels good or at least stops a bad feeling, which can be almost the same thing.

I have been trying to fashion my writing into a compulsion for a long time now, but part of me always wants an “out” for everything and letting something become compulsive seems like such a huge commitment… so I have always hesitated at letting it go that far.

But all the ingredients are there. I am definitely happier when I write then when I do not. The last month has proved that amply. And when I am in condition, it’s not even very hard. By all logic, I should love to write and want to do it all the time. The more I write, the better I feel.

Yeah. Logic. Great stuff, logic, but when it comes to one’s emotional self they are about as useful as a snow cone in a snowstorm. Emotions work by their own rules.

Still, I can see myself moving towards accepting writing as a compulsion. It will be hard for me to accept the necessary loss of control, but it is not like the control I have is doing me any damned good.

I could use a little surrender in my life. I have been carrying around a big lump of pain and guilt about how my life has turned out so far and it is futile and useless and sometimes, downright poisonous.

Therefore, I hereby forgive myself for any and all mistakes of the past, and preemptively forgive myself for the ones I am bound to make in the future. It is better to make mistakes than to make the mistake of doing nothing. The only way to get anywhere in life is to keep trying till you learn. You cannot possibly learn the road before setting foot on it. There is always risk.

I also remind myself that I have been suffering from a major mental illness for most of my adult life and for at least half of that, it was untreated. Despite my brilliance, I carry a heavy burden, one that people cannot even see. So I can be forgiven for having a hard time getting healthy.

After all, my mental illness inherently resists treatment because it makes it hard for me to seek treatment. Too sick to go to the doctor sounds like a terrible irony, and it is.

And it has also been the truth of things for me for many, many years. Plus, my assertiveness issues make it hard for me to make full use of medical professionals even when I get to them.

I am, quite honestly, not ready to be a grownup. I missed a lot of the vital steps to become one and I feel that, deep down, I am, at best, around fourteen years old.

And some days, a lot less than that.

See you tomorrow, folks.