Look at the world around me:
People are sad, yet I am not sad (anymore).
People are ugly, yet I am not ugly.
People die, yet I do not die.
People are forced to take organic chemistry, yet I do not take organic chemistry.
What conclusion can I draw, except that I am the origin and the rest of you are products of my imagination, put here to apparently suffer and make me feel good about my life?
Go forth. Have sore throats. Get snowed in. Make your hockey team lose its game. Miss your bus. Know that it is all to a good purpose, and I hold your strings lovingly in my sweaty palms.
I am willing to accept the idea that those of you who also do not suffer might be as real as me. Mainly because it would be less lonely than just me and a bevy of fakes.
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