I am about 99% sure that I am dying. First, I should explain that I believe when good things happen, my mortality rate spikes (and vice versa). For example:
This week I have been in and out of the doctor's office because I feel like there is a bear inside me trying to claw it's way out of my very unhappy stomach, and there are more bears inside my skull, causing damage there as well. I am currently waiting for results from my lab tests.
This week, my mom bought Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
DO YOU SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE? My mom knows I might die, so she tries to console me by being extra nice. One might point out, "Well, Kat. Buying Cinnamon Toast Crunch isn't THAT great." No. No, my friend, that is where you are wrong. You just don't understand. I was that kid who grew up with essentially nothing but Raisin Bran and goddamn off-brand Wheaties. I was that kid who salivated while simultaneously wiping away tears of sorrow as my mother carted me through the cereal aisle that held my hopes and dreams.
Now, you must see the position that I am in. Do not mourn for me. As I prepare for my impending doom, I will be happily treating my taste buds to a sugary last meal.