Anyone would have been forgiven for thinking it must have been a hell of a party. There were dishes everywhere. Pots and pans were stacked in the sink, some still with half eaten food. The room was littered with glasses of unfinished beverages and coagulating coffee in mugs at one time meant to sober the imbiber or caffeinate the exhausted; all of whom were me. On the day my depression lifted, the pots were the first to hit the curb. Then I circled the room with an “ultra strong” garbage bag and rid myself of a service for 12.