Guys, I’m so glad this book is almost over, because I’m close to giving up.
Honestly, I’m worn out. I don’t know how many different ways there are to say that Hazel is a hateful brat, that I still don’t care Gus is dead, that apparently people with cancer have a monopoly on feelings about death, that John Green is either a narcissistic douchebag desperately trying to prove his relevance to the literary canon or a narcissistic douchebag desperately trying to prove his relevance to tweenage girls via so much pandering.
You’re tired of hearing it, I’m tired of saying it; Lord knows we’re all tired of reading it.
I mean, this chapter is almost exactly the same as the last one, just . . . longer. And less plausible.
Oh well, let’s just pick ourselves up by our hideous bowties and stagger through the third-to-last chapter of this endless novel. It’s what Mr. Psycho would’ve wanted.