Thoughts I had while falling into an apparently bottomless, infinitely deep hole: Why isn’t this hole ending? When did the bottom of my basement stairs become a hole in the first place? I’m comfortable, sure, but am I happy? Does my partner genuinely listen to my needs—or I to hers? Is the night really that dark, or am I just too impatient to let my eyes adjust to the light? Why do I constantly complain about my job but never take action? Do I really want to land, or do I secretly prefer the drama of always being in flux?