As my body continues to be bound by the ailments of the ill, my mind is left to drift amongst the more despairing of possible thoughts.

For example, have you ever thought that you were going to die?

I have!

In fact, I was so sure that I wasn’t going to survive my Iceland trek last summer I even wrote a woeful will and hid it somewhere in my bedroom before my departure. Presumably, for my heartbroken family to stumble upon after the news of my decease and somehow be less sad, or at least more content at the realisation that their Anna was a complete idiot anyway for leaving them such a thing!

The worst part is that I can’t actually remember where I put it.

So I figure that either I will find it in around ten years and the whole scenario will feel like one of those films where the protagonist realises -due to attending their own funeral etc- that they are no longer alive and have become a ghost. This of course will be followed by me alarmingly asking the next person in sight if they can see me and if I’m alive– which will inevitably lead to them concluding that I have completely lost it.

Or someone else will find it, see that I am perfectly alive, and will think that I have completely lost it.

Perhaps, therefore, I should start writing the will of my sanity.

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And there’s me looking more alive than expected in Iceland!

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