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Fiction and Worry

A few nights ago I woke up from a strange sound hitting my bedroom window. As I arose from my bed with my phone flashlight displaying on one hand and my other hand in karate chopped position, I realized sometime along the night it had begun to rain and debris was smashing against my front porch. It was 3:45 in the morning and my brain had already tricked myself into thinking it was already time to start the day. The only other time I can remember waking up this suddenly from a delicate sleep was when I had a dream about Taco Bell’s Baja Blast (I was severely disappointed opening my fridge that night only to find expired milk). Laying on my bed I found my thinking spot, the tiny gaping hole on my ceiling that seems to expand every year hypnotizing me to be in a state of mind where all I seem to do is think about my future and the rest of my life.

“Oh hey Chris Todd, guess what time it is?”-Brain

“Please for the love of pete..”-Me

“That’s right you thought it, it’s time for you to recollect every worry you’ve ever had from your childhood good looking self up to now and worry about everything all at once!”- Brain

“I literally haven’t thought about any of this all day!”-Me