It’s never been a question I liked to hear, or felt competent to answer. That is especially true today. I’m inclined to reply elliptically, maybe by answering a different one, in spite of the fact that I’m not sure what that different one might be yet exactly

jail exactly. Alas

If you have to ask, then the odds are that I won’t have a good way to explain.

The chakra bowls didn’t do as much as I had hoped. (See also: “a small farm or ranch”, American Spanish, from Quechua chakhra.)

The Blanket app is working though, in a treat-the-symptoms fashion.

If I ever do get enlightened enough to own nothing, then the very last and very hardest thing I will give away ownership of will be called: Peace and Quiet.

Until then the raging of a metafictional storm will have to do.

On the related subject of how-art-thee, I would tend to agree with that opining about there being nothing Wrong with you, with the sole exception being that you are, of late, just a speck too Normal for my taste.

But my tasting buds are pretty trash, and I feel it probable that in the eyes of some theoretical and nominal Higher power, you are likely just a few clicks north-northeast of canonical human perfection, and Rightness.