Leftover Soup!
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"Why haven't they killed me yet?" is one of my big ones. The fact that I live in a country with no death penalty seems not to be relevant.

When I'm counter-crazy-talking myself, the response that usually works is not "I'm not a bad person and I don't deserve to die", but rather "Somebody somewhere has made a mistake. I'm still getting away with it".

(Tuesday afternoon, INT: elevator)

MH (head in JH's lap): Why... why am I allowed to be alive? I'm so bad. Why hasn't anyone killed me yet?
JH: They can't kill you. You're indestructible.
MH (hugging herself): I'm destructible. Fragile. I'm so tiny.
JH: You've got as much life in you as a football stadium full of people. It's compressed down dense like a diamond. You're a pellet, a pellet of enriched uranium chi.
MH: Shouldn't I... explode? Explode everywhere?
JH: You do explode. You explode all the time, big giant turquoise bursts with yellow spots. It's awesome.
MH (caressing JH's face): You give good crazy talk.
JH: I learn from the best.

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