I guess it depends on the Universe we’re speaking of, honestly.

Maybe in another space, I live in a tiny cottage with a cat who chases sunbeams. There are plants growing everywhere because I don’t kill them with inattention or overwatering. My house smells of lemon cleaner, incense, and books. There’s clutter everywhere, but everything has its place. Maybe I knit more than crochet in this world.

Or maybe I live in a rambling old Queen Anne with a handful of friends? There’s laughter and the smell of fresh baked bread always in the air. Creaky stairs and a big bed in a small room I share with a partner or a bed hog of a pet corgi that needs a set of tiny stairs to get up on the bed with me.

Maybe I’m a mutant with the powers of telekinesis and precognition channeled through vision.

Or even further into non-reality, I live a life without constant pain. Without myopic eyes and a body slowly betraying me, I am a marathon runner and champion chili maker.

Who knows what we are in other worlds?