I CAN'T STOP SCRATCHING MY CROTCH.

I would love to stop, truly I would, especially because I find myself doing it all the time at the store, and if people wanted to see me scratch my crotch instead of buying my books, I'd be in an entirely different line of work, and would be making better money. So I've concluded that the only rational decision is to resort back to having my pubic hair ripped out of me.

In light of recent events, I'm feeling exceptionally optimistic about the life ahead of me, the people I'm going to get to share it with, and no longer will I commit anyamount of time to the useless pursuit of imagining scenarios that may come to pass. It's fucking stupid, I'm stopping immediately. Thank you all for everything you did for me, over these last few days. If it weren't for you, who knows where I would be. Lost and alone, I know that for sure, but maybe dead, or dangling from a precipice somewhere, or worse.

I'm off to nuke mobs. Ciao.