You ever go get breakfast after a night of sex and you think to yourself, ever so briefly, that hey, my life rules? Hey maybe I won't kill myself after all. It's going to be a great day. And then twenty minutes goes by and you start looking at your phone and immediately you're like, alright nevermind. Back to the drawing board, I guess (the drawing board, in this situation, is a big white board where I draw a very big bottle of pills and a bathtub full of champagne and a stick figure that I've labeled "me, the stinky")