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This is it. I’m about to turn myself in for having skipped town after agreeing
to report to my social worker regularly. I got in a lot more trouble a lot
quickerly than I expected, but I guess I always knew that it would end like
this. It’s better than going down in a hail of gunfire, though, right? That
was not an implausibility, I’ll say that much. Ever since I came to this
world—and let’s face it, the world before this one—I’ve struggled with getting
work, holding work, paying my bills, and just standing on my own two feet. A
lot of people have been really patient and helpful with me, but it’s really
done a number on my anxiety. As bad as jail sounds to me, at least I’ll have a
place to sleep at night. As weird as it may sound to you, I’m most
looking forward to the food. It’s not that I think it will be good, but I
won’t have any other options. That’s where most of my money goes, and where my
weight comes from. Carefully portioned...portions, and carefully planned
eating times, will actually make life a lot simpler. I remember watching this
video online a long time ago where an autistic character starts learning about
how strict life is in prison, and decides that he wants to be part of it,
because people like us thrive on procedures and protocols. It’s gonna suck in
a lot of ways, like all the dangers that come with being around unpredictable
and potentially violent people, but there are some benefits to it. As I said
before, I’m tired of running anyway, so I’ll take whatever punishment I’m
owed. By the time you read this, I’ll have walked into that police station. I
may never get to tell you how it went, but don’t imagine the worst. I’m sure
I’ll be fine.
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