I think about dieing a lot, I think too much. Come close, maybe that’s why, not the thinking, but the too much to where it makes living icky. Like, ugh, I can’t stand myself, why am I such a douchebag? Dieing in my sleep doesn’t make sense to me, don’t think that the suffering before the actual, flatline, is so significant in the grand scheme of things. Yeah, it would suck to be tortured, but some people seem to put too much on dieing in one’s sleep being so much better, like after you die, there’s nothing, so it might as well be painless, kinda thing. I do think how we live determines how we die, just how far the rabbit hole goes, eternity, well,