For me, I saw myself at my worst as I packed up the living-room closet at the old place. Tucked away in there where I kept the litter box, coats, board games I never played, discarded knitting projects, a single yoga block, a jump rope, one of those exercise bands, and a dry bag for the kayaking I meant to do this summer, I found one of those refillable bins for cat litter that you get at those big-box pet stores. And inside of it was dirty cat litter a cat sitter had dumped in there well over a year ago. I had to take the lid off and empty it into a trash bag, and that, I tell you, is some dark-night-of-the-soul shit, that I could live with that in the closet of my one-bedroom apartment for that long without taking it out to the goddamned trash. For that you need a page-turning mystery and raffle-winning hopes.