I'm continually reminded of my mortality by the voices in my head. "You're going to die! You're going to die!", they keep telling me, although now they're speaking German, and I don't understand German. My nose is bleeding. I have to remember to stop running into walls. I'm thinking about going to Branson. Pat Boone is trying to sell me a reverse mortgage. I stuck my head in the oven to kill myself, but it doesn't work with an electric stove. Turn around, bright eyes. I think I may be contagious.
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