Well, here we are. It’s 2025, there’s a lot to be worried about, and while I hate what America has become, I’ve somehow, finally, sort of just…let it go. Not that I don’t care (I’m attending the Women’s March on January 18, sending lots of emails, and will be actively campaigning against traitors like John Fetterman), but I’ve realized that all this existential dread is slowly–or maybe not so slowly–killing me. The longer I remain pa...