I have this little, teeny, tiny fear that the voices will be right, purely by coincidence that I'll die before my next birthday--I'll choke on a cherry tomato at a restaurant or I'll get into a car wreck on my way home from downtown or I'll have another accidental OD mixing my regular psych-meds with the pain meds for my back.
And then in the uber-creepy voice that I know so well, he will finally say, "Lace, you are dying."
And be right.
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