Cheers, my good fellow.

It's like being in a glass of champagne. You know the pretty beige at the bottom, where bubbles rise in a sparkling display of cheer and weightlessness? Not that. It feels more like I'm lying on the surface of the liquid. The part that no one looks at, which is turbulent and full of bubbles bursting all around me while I try frantically to miss all of them. In the hope that I can escape and figure out why something that is celebratory, and deemed by the world to be absolutely wonderful, is threatening to burst a bubble right under my dainty little ass and shoot me straight off into the heavens.