Another sign of the apocalypse is me not getting to sleep until nine o'clock in the morning, but that's not Biblical. It's just me missing my hypochondria. A real illness masks all those daily symptoms with which I conjure fears of imaginary illnesses. How have I managed to survive two weeks without a brain tumor? I worry so much about not knowing what terrible disease I don't have that I can't sleep.
But tonight there will be pizza. That makes up for the absence of hypochondria. At the very least I can expect some indigestion.