SO, the Roommate is ill.  Bronchitus and some sort of infection - I swear, she doesn't do anything by halves.  Anyway, because I have to interpret all the oddities of my life as disease (Once, when I was like, seven, I decided that I was actually a split personality and my alter ego was anorexic.  I guess because I wasn't hungry?  idek), I've decided that her sickness clearly means that I am dieing.

Okay, so I don't feel sick.  Or dead.  But I am bizarrely tired (not so bizarrely - I only slept like six hours last night and the night before) and I have sporadic torrents of blood rushing from my nose and.  Um.  My feet are turning yellow.  

What kind of retarded disease would that be?  Who even knows.  But obviously, the only cure is comfort ice cream and tv.

If I do end up dieing, you're all getting letters from justincaseidie.com, and I regret nothing.