There are a handful of shared human experiences so horrible that the best analogy for them is swallowing jagged chunks of burning car tire. Moving apartments, sitting in traffic, not shooting people with a bow and arrow, whatever. They all suck, and my fear is eventually my social patience will wear away to nothing and I’ll no longer be able to bear the burden of a cooperative life. Eventually I’ll become this bewildering sociopath who doesn’t use toilets or worry about wearing outfits that aren’t medieval period pieces. A horrible life to be sure, though I suppose there would be some upsides. Throwing trash at loud children or always wearing a cat-themed sock puppet are positives that immediately come to mind.