Scratch that. I am actually dying.

I am growing something.  Inside of me.  No, it is not a fetus.  It's more like a viral plague.  There is a probably unknown strain of some sort of soul-killing virus replicating inside of me and slowly sucking the life out of my body.  I'm not sure what it wants.  It's unclear whether it just intends to obstruct the air flow in my nose forever or whether its primary goal is to make me so woozy that I fall over and knock my head on the ground, possibly killing myself.  If the latter is the case, the virus really could just wait for nature to take its course.  I'm not particularly graceful, virus.  Just trying to help you out here.

Either way, I'm awake because I can't breathe and if I can't breathe I can't sleep and this all is much less serious than I'm making it sound.  Unless I really do die.  If I die, it's much more serious than I'm making it out to be.  Anyway, WANNA HEAR A STORY??

One day there was this really incredibly attractive girl named me.  I had to move all of my THINGS and STUFF and ITEMS from my college dorm to my room back at home because the university I was attending generally frowns upon people leaving piles and piles of junk in random rooms.  When I first moved into my dorm, I had a very reasonable amount of things.

Over time this amount grew.  I would come home from the store with some lotion, goldfish, decorative foam fingers.   Bags of useless stuff soon began piling under my bed.  I started to get slightly uncomfortable.  I was going to have to take this all back home, after all.  But I dismissed these thoughts and went out to buy more things.

In college there are these things called "dining plans" that give you free food.  Free food!  FREE FOOD!  And it's the good kind of food!  From vending machines and snack things and ice cream!  FREE FOOD...that I pay for every month as part of my rent, but STILL IT'S BASICALLY FREE!  I started to come home from class every day laden with food.  When it came time to move, for some reason I decided that the only thing I could possibly do with all of my food was pack it.  Along with all my other stuff.  Buy NEW FOOD?  NO!  IT WAS FREE FOOD!  So I packed my free food.  And my other things.  I began packing.  Things were going...okay.

I realized that I was going to need more boxes.  My roommate, meanwhile, had already packed and busily cleaned her half of the room like a responsible tornado of efficiency.  Oh, how I envied her ability to perform menial tasks without suffering from a total meltdown.  Nevertheless, I was determined to pack up all of my stuff all by myself.

Soon, I was in the zone.  A packing typhoon, I was a force to be reckoned with.  My arms were a blur, tossing items in boxes with reckless abandon.  Where my roommate was a well-oiled machine, stowing objects with precision, I was a flailing toddler throwing a temper tantrum. I flew across the room, cleaning walls and taping boxes and tearing down posters without any rhyme or reason.  I shoved my crap into every corner of every box almost angrily.  Actually, I was angry.  Why did I have so many things???  What was I doing shoving three bags of potato chips into a box of clothes???  WHY COULD I NOT GET "FRIDAY" OUT OF MY HEAD??!!  It wasn't long before the impossible became a glorious reality: all of my stuff was packed.

It was a lot less fulfilling than I thought it would be.

Unpacking was a miracle the likes of which have not been seen since biblical times.

The moral of the story: when you get a Happy Meal at McDonald's, throw away the toy instead of saving it and inexplicably bringing it and every other piece of useless junk that you've accumulated over the months with you when you move.