After thinking for a while, I’m entertaining the possibility that I’m a character trapped within the pages of an extremely long Choose Your Own Adventure book.
Basically I’m allowed to control the direction of the story, but I’m not the one sitting at the old-timey typewriter, clack clack clacking that story into existence. Whoever’s doing that, I can’t say. For all I know, he’s an alcoholic hippo wearing a monocle – but that’s not important. What’s important is that I’m essentially at the mercy of a writer’s wildest imaginings… and that prospect is beyond disconcerting, especially because they tend to be slightly more unpredictable (and let’s face it, strange) compared to the average Joe.