What I’ll miss: The Doughnut Plant
I went for the first time in the middle of July, and I’ve been four or five times since. The cheapest donut is $2.25, but it’s not any old donut. It’s dessert, and for dessert that’s reasonable. Go. Go more than once. Try a few different donuts. Share between friends if you actually do that sort of thing. But really: who shares anymore? Get your own dang donuts. I want the coconut and the carrot cake and the tres leches and everything else. And yes, I prefer that spelling of donut. And when I describe these donuts to people, I love seeing their eyes widen and their tongues dripping with drool, hanging from their mouths. You have to go. Get thee to Grand Street and consume the most heavenly donuts this side of heaven.

What I won’t miss: My propensity for depression
Stupid thing reared its ugly head here. Its ugly head was very ugly. I hated having it around. Its ugliness. I hated myself and how ugly I felt. I hated how it kept making me focus on everything ugly and it switched to ugly lenses in my eyes and everything I saw had an ugly cloud over it, an ugly, sticky film on it. Especially everything that had to do with myself.

I got it under control, though. That ain’t ugly.