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I’ve been stuck at Stage 2.5 for like … twenty years now.

STAGE ONE

I will be happy when I’m not so cursed. Why does the universe insist on subjecting me to my own individual laws of thermodynamics in which my life is empirically more difficult than everyone else’s? I don’t understand why I had to be born into this particular body, with this particular life, in this particular first-world hell. My existence is rife with misfortune. I’m starting to get another canker sore, for instance. And my shoelace broke. And my brand-new iPhone screen is cracked. Great. Why can’t I just be a blind orphan leper or something?

STAGE TWO

I will be happy when everyone else becomes as enlightened as I have become. Life is a festival of wonders for which we should all be grateful, idiots, so what’s with all the bitching? If the world’s population didn’t amount to a giant conspiracy to drown me in negativity, life would be perfect. People need to stop gouging out my poor defenseless eyes with their unsavory Facebook statuses and snobby Tweets. Why does everyone else have to make my existence so unpleasant when it doesn’t need to be? Also, does it count as genocide if they’re Republicans?

STAGE THREE

I will be happy.

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