So you go back to the heaviness in your gut. You let one more hour pass and decide maybe the cheese is only a contributing factor. There are other things. For instance, your indecisiveness. How you don't take a stand for yourself and tell those around you "this is me and this is how I'm going to be", and believe me with enough assertiveness they'll accept it and won't think you selfish in the least bit. At least I hope so.
Another issue could be the dead bodies you're dealing with 4 days a week. Now I'm sure they're doing us a great favour yet when you're staring at the body, at whatever exposed of part of him/her. You think in terms of muscles, this person used these muscles to get on his knees to propose to his wife (the dead bodies are American hence the Americanised thought) or perhaps he buried his own son with them. That's quite a dark unusual thought, my brain could have instead imagined the simple every day acts of "eating, drinking, sleeping, walking, etc." Yet that was my train of thought, one can't help it sometimes. There's also the spy novel you're reading, wishing an atheist author would adopt you (the thought which gets you a disapproving comment from your sister which you reply to saying you'll convert him or mutter that you'll probably get kicked out in a matter of a few hours that is if you were lucky enough to get in his house in the first place). Your thoughts are of course far-fetched but a reader can dream, exactly when this spy novel has an avid reader as a leading character. Maybe you were better off living in a hostel, smiling at strangers you'll share the place with and might get to know well with time than being adopted by an author. They say writers should only be read and not dealt with because that might ruin whatever thoughts you had of them in the first place. Who would want a childish 20 year old medical student worried that she had cheese at night when she knew better?
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