And it’s not just that the characters find themselves in depressing situation after depressing situation (well, they kind of do), it’s the fact that the scope of the novel makes every depressing instance so much more tragic because you’re highly familiar with what lead each character to the sad place they’re in currently.

When I got home I threw myself across my bed, pizza still in hand. I continued to cry, louder now, and reveled momentarily in my hideous self-indulgence. I fell asleep to the sound of my own sniveling. In my wrought sleep I dreamed vividly of a man I used to love. I dreamed of him…

There’s nothing worse than wearing pants—nudity is a wonderful thing. But you’re at your most vulnerable when you’re naked, at the mercy of emotions and the elements, which are both liable to kick your bare ass at any moment. Here’s a guide I prepared (based on my own experience) to help you navigate the minefield…