doom doom doom, doomy doomy doom

So I have massive end-of-my-life exams this week. How does my brain deal with this?

Apparently by concocting the worst nightmare of not only my life, but any other. Behold:

So I go into my qualifying exams and they tell me I'll be interpreting the life history of the spider-mouse based on observing them in tanks at different age intervals. They show me into the room, give me a clipboard, some goggles, lock the door behind me. I approach the first tank, and inside is a clutch of eggs, glistening a bit in the terrarium, and I think--wait, mice don't lay eggs. I've been had! And then the eggs hatch and they're slimy and strange and I don't look too close because I'm started to get weirded out, so I turn to the next tank and FUCKING SHIT.

I don't even know what is wrong with my fucking brain. A spider-mouse doesn't sound that scary, does it? Oh, but just think on it a little further. It's got the head of a mouse, wide bulging black eyes, and bitey square little teeth chomping at the air, and from the neck down, the bristly translucent brown legs of a fucking death spider. Tarantula-sized. Pawing at the glass of the terrarium and snapping its teeth and there's like twelve of them, swarming around each other. In the next terrarium they're even bigger. And then a terrarium tips over and they're everywhere and they're CLIMBING UP MY LEGS, and I'm screaming, "JUST FAIL ME, I DON'T CARE, JUST FAIL ME AND THEN SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD OH GOD."

Subconscious, you are On Notice.