At 9:47 pm on Friday, I fell in a pile of trash. Two knees bleeding, one existential crisis brewing. But, we’ll get to that. First, I want to tell a story from 5 months back. I call this story: “The Time I Tried to Say Hi to an Attractive-Looking Man at a Concert.” It is 8:14 pm on a Tuesday, and I am alone at an Alessia Cara concert in Madison Square Garden. I had bought my tickets 30 minutes earlier, inspired by the ever-mounting discomfort wrought upon by unemployment and a delayed mattress delivery. I had just moved to New York City, and in an effort to distract myself from this discomfort, I decided to go to a concert. Alone. Wearing a skirt two sizes too small, which was only being held together by a hair tie and good faith. I had sprinted to the concert, so I sat in the concert hall sort of heaving and bloody red. I was also desperately trying to stop myself from burping loudly, as I had just chugged a bottle of sparkling water and the carbonation was now saying: “Yeah...