Quarter Life Crisis

So, I guess today is my birthday or something. It was on this day twenty years ago that I decided to grace the world with my presence. I say "decided" because I was born 16 days late... Even in the womb I liked sleeping in.
Speaking of sleeping in, I wish I could have slept through today. I might be having a quarter-life crisis. (It's a thing). According to a quiz I took online today, I'll die around age 90. That means I have lived 22% of my life already. And I haven't even done 22% of the things I want to do. And for some things, it's TOO LATE BECAUSE NOW I'LL NEVER BE A TEENAGER AGAIN. I have to be all responsible and adult-like now... (probably).

20 bucks

My arm has a fever.
I know it's "for my own good", as I said to the nurse, but is it really necessary to stick 37, 000 needles into my poor, frail body? (And by 37, 000 I mean seven. And by frail I mean I didn't eat breakfast.) But seriously. I feel like there's got to be a better way to get people healthy than by viciously jabbing a rusty metal rod into their muscles.
Option #1: Maybe a pill? Then instead of injecting a live virus into the fatty tissue of your arm where it can wreak havoc with your autoimmune system... You could just swallow a little tablet and be done. It's like getting all of the awesome Spidey powers without needing to be bitten by a radioactive arachnid.

Then you could be as happy as this freakishly content woman.
*This picture has been censored for our more sensitive viewers.* 

This time I really am dying

In December, I got really sick and diagnosed myself on WebMD. I thought I was going to die. Luckily for all of you, I didn't. But I had to go to the doctor today (annual summertime checkups with the doctor, dentist, optometrist...). Also I have had asthma for like 47 years but never got officially diagnosed and I decided that I should probably get an inhaler so that I can breathe every once in awhile.

Oxygen is kind of a big deal. 

So anyways, I went to my pediatrician (whatever I'm still a kid). And I got an inhaler. But then the doctor was all, "Oh hey let me check on your immunizations!" He left to get my record and I tried to run away, but my mom grabbed me (whatever my mom came. I'm still a kid) and held me down. Turns out I had to get a shot... Turns out that one time when I got a flu shot and fainted wasn't a fluke. I passed out again. 

Cinnamon Challenge

The cinnamon challenge.


I reacted even worse. So basically, the cinnamon challenge is the most horrible decision ever. Step into my shoes and see.

Intervention!

I am in desperate need of an intervention. For those of you who leadperfect lives, or don't know how to use a search engine, wikipedia.org defines an intervention as "an orchestrated attempt by family and friends to get someone to seek professional help with an addiction or other serious problem". Well, I have quite a few problems, but I definitely have one more serious than the rest. The past week, the earliest I went to bed was 3 a.m. THREE IN THE MORNING. I am slowly losing my mind. And dying a little bit. So if anyone wants to save my life a little bit by intervening, here is how you conduct an intervention.

Ask others to help.

Is there a doctor in the house?

Do you remember that time a couple of flu seasons ago when everyone was scared of swine flu? And if anyone coughed in class, everyone around them murmured, "Swiiiiine!" "He has the swine." "Oink, oink!" Well, I was thinking about that today because, guess what.

Bacon is delicious. Worth the risk.

I'm sick.