A drama queen and her thoughts at 1 in the morning.

"I'm going to die. Seriously. It's way too late to call people just to complain that my chest hurts. No one can do anything about it. But oh god, it hurts. Why does it hurt? Stupid doctors. Isn't there a better way to figure out you're allergic to things besides just trying them? Ow. No one else is even going to know that I'm dead for like, a Week. And I locked the door because I'm wearing as little as possible in order to not aggravate the itching and oh god even if I die like this my roommate won't break it down until I've already started smelling and I sure hope that these hives have gone away after I'm dead because he's gonna see Everything and I hope my parents understand why I'm not wearing underwear at my funeral. Why does my HAIR ITCH??? What does that even mean? Wow, these hives are freaky looking. Thank god for calamine lotion, because I can no longer feel them itching. Of course, I'd gladly take the itching if the burning/tightness/compression in my chest would go away. Ow. I should call my dad and see if taking advil would help. It's too late to call my dad. Ow. Fuck it, I'm taking the advil. Hopefully it won't fuck things up more. Ow. I'm so gonna die."

30 minutes later...

Zzzzzzzz.