On Suicide and Tacos

So I may have commited suicide. I don't mean that in any sort of odd, Sixth Sense, I'm-dead-but-still-somehow-communicating-with-the-world way. I mean it in a "I may have killed myself, but I'll only know in a few weeks" way. In short, I ate at Taco Bell. Fully knowing the consequences, I ordered numerous burritos and a gordita, then put them in my mouth. I didn't even make sure they didn't have onions in them!
Knowingly going into Taco Bell and ordering, thinking how the tasties might be laced with baceterial death, was actually somewhat liberating. Eating Mexican food, my fate fell out of my own hands. Whether I live or die, or ... just get sick, is already decided. I like the security of knowing I can't do anything to save my own life. If I'm dying. Which I'm almost undoubtedly not. So I think I'll just eat more burritos.