the underlying king

I wonder what's going on with my stats.  I really wonder; sometimes I really wonder.  I'm sighing right now.  What could be going on in the underlying king?  I just don't know.  Sometimes I get this sharp sensation inside, almost like a freefall, whilst I wonder if someone's on my page—I'm just shaking my head thinking about it.  Is it for two minutes?  Or maybe three?  Could it be for fifteen minutes?  What if the son of a bitch left the room and is eating a pizza somewhere else?  That's so much information to crazily discern.  It's almost way too much, wondering.  Is he done eating the pizza?  Did he get any solid reading done?  Does that pizza taste good?  I read this book about checking your stats—English is a pretty arbitrary language—and it outlines the dangers of fantasizing.  If you don't utilize some tools gleaned from those pages, you'll relapse—you'll check your stats.  If she's eating a pizza, then she was always meant to eat that pizza, but—and here's where it gets troublesome—it doesn't matter if it's a pizza.  She could be eating a porcupine.  I shouldn't be fantasizing about her eating anything.  I have to pray—I have to pray it out.  Sometimes I'll forget the prayer, and I'll just say the title—yea, that one, it's not like he hasn't heard it before.  Sometimes I'll accidently curse when I pray.  It takes practice.