Some days I’m absolutely certain I’m not up to the task of living the life set before me. Just the other day I injured myself with a plastic straw. In my defense, it was a stealth attack and it was no ordinary straw. It was a milkshake sized straw, and it was swole. It’s funny how I never sensed any danger from the cup holder in my car, and certainly not from the random drinking utensils it often contains. That just goes to show you that you never know. You really just never know. I accidentally chunked out a sliver of arm fat while recklessly setting my elbow down on the arm rest of my car, and now I have a wound that is so uniquely me, I feel like they ought to name it after me. How does one even explain such an injury? Answer: you don’t. You hide that stuff because no one will ever believe you’re an actual adult if they know that straws can beat you up. Shhhhhh! This never happened. Next subject!