When I reminisce about my life, there are a lot of extremely unpleasant experiences that I look back fondly on. Getting stabbed in the hand. Bad relationships. Swim practice. As much as I know that these episodes were filled with sleep deprivation, light-to-substantial physical and mental torture, anxiety and aimlessness, the phrase 'good times' nonetheless finds its way to my lips, arising from some other place inside me that is not bound by skin and bones.