shell that only I could see. It was ugly, but oddly comfortable, and I had pretty much planned on spending the rest of my life in it. By early November, the dread had filled me completely, and was spilling out in very productive ways. For example, by spending the better part of a week inside, hunched over my computer, arguing with idiots on the internet. I was able to convincingly act as if this was indeed the best use of my time, and that it wasn’t just a misdirected way of working through my inner emotional
