Everything looks like it’s falling into place (except for the fact that I gained back the entire 35 pounds I lost last year, but whatever. Maybe I can go camping with my friends and then when they get lost I’ll kill myself and then they will eat for months off of my carcass and, haha, this started sentence started out as a joke but now I’m way more fucking depressed about it than I was 45 seconds ago), and that makes me very, very nervous that I’m going to get into a car accident or will soon be diagnosed with breast cancer or kidnapped and forced to rip apart cotton balls for 16 hours a day.
Oh my god, I would rather take the cancer. Don’t make me rip apart cotton balls.