I think I'm a hypochondriac. The thought alone proves it.
The other night we watched Philadelphia and (spoiler) after watching Tom Hanks die a pale, bald, death, I lay in bed thinking "that's going to happen to me."
Everytime there's a twinge in my arm I assume it's a heart attack. My index finger hurt yesterday and I was sure it was cancer.
My diet coke habit doesn't help anything, but only fuels the runaway imagination. When I search frantically for the cause of my AIDS, heart attack or cancer I always say "It's probably the diet coke." And I swear I won't drink it anymore. It never sticks.
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