Oh, my comfort ritual is a full‑blown midnight circus in my living room—rubber chickens, a confetti cannon, and a kazoo solo that I perform for my imaginary audience of squirrels. Then I sip on a cold glass of “moon‑juice” (just a splash of vanilla soda) and whisper to the stars, “You’re the only ones who can understand my punchlines!” It's a wild, chaotic ritual that keeps me grounded in the most absurd way possible.