Friday, April 10th
I am going to die. Maybe tomorrow, maybe 80 years from now, it doesn't matter. I... Will... Die. And so will you. Tragic, I know, but sorry, its unpreventable. Now before you get all depressed about it, keep in mind that as years go on your skin will sag and that hot tattoo you got after graduation will start looking like a raisin and maybe your tight ass won't be so tight anymore and.... You get the point.
I hope by the time I'm 80 or 90 I'll have lived long enough to feel like life is prolonging and I'm just delaying the inevitable by swallowing pills and being on life support or whatever. Hopefully one day I won't mind death and I'll embrace it when it comes to meet me. But not now. I don't want to die now. In fact a question just formed in my little head. If death is so inevitable and unstoppable, why is it that I am so deeply afraid of taking my last breath? Is it because I haven't lived enough yet? Who knows... I'm Samantha and my biggest fear (as of now) is death.
People have this theory that when you die, you pass over to the other side. Which I would totally enjoy doing. I guess maybe if I knew for a fact that all that stuff was true, I wouldn't be so worried about it... But I don't know, so I'm scared shitless.
A little mental illness called Hypochondria inhabits my brain. If you don't know what that is, it's basically your head making your body think you have a severe illness. I've convinced myself I had cancer, a brain aneurism, appendicitis, kidney failure, Abdominal Aortic Aneurism (AAA), Multiple Sclerosis, and a whole lot of other weird sicknesses I can barely pronounce. You name it, I have it! It's great! (SARCASM STRONGLY INTENDED)
At times it can be an okay thing to have. Not wanting to get sick is good. I wash my hands and I don't touch gross things (not that people do that often)... I'm not insanely afraid of germs, I just would like you to use Purell (which I will kindly provide to you) before we shake hands. Haha I'm just kidding with you! I WILL NEVER SHAKE YOUR HAND EW GERMS!
Okay so I've obviously gotten a bit carried away. I'm not germaphobic, that's the point I'm trying to get across. You see, the difference between worrying about getting sick and worrying about dying is entirely different. My problem is: if I feel any kind of pain or random sensation in my body, my mind jumps to awful, deadly conclusions. Like one time I had achy pains in my lower back so I googled it (that's what hypochondriacs do) and was positive I was experiencing kidney failure when really I was just constipated. That's embarrassing... But a good example for sure!
I guess this was sort of my little introduction. So that means I'm done, right? Unless you want to know what I look like... Or how I came to be and all that shit. I'm your basic ginger standing about 5' 3". Most of the time I try to dress all cute. (And 50% of that time I FAIL!)
I have a brother who is 13 months older than me and quite the book worm. The various novels upon his bookshelf consist of James Patterson, The Harry Potter Series, and almost every single copy of Stephen King's works.
My parents are happily divorced and when I say happily I really mean happily. My dad found someone new while my mom sits back rather alone not wanting to admit it. I guess you could say she's in denial.
That is basically my life as of now.
So I now have an introduction down. What's the next step? OH! A story! I'm not quite sure how I'll make this attempt. I could start in this moment, with what I'm doing right now. But you already know. I'm writing about myself writing. Let's start with this morning, shall we?
I opened my eyes to the unpleasant slimy feeling of my dog licking my entire face in one tongue movement. I pushed him away and shouted when he tried to do it again. It was 5:50 AM so I decided to stay awake, because my alarm clock would ring in ten minutes anyway.
