I hate this!
It's like that feeling I get toward the end of the movie when Isabelle gives Thomas the gun. I know that the story has to turn out the same way every time, but something inside of me can't help hoping that she won't give it to him. Or that he won't take it. How many different ways can today turn out? If I think too much abut how things will end, I won't get to enjoy the good things in between. I was always the sort of kid who was good at holding a grudge, and good at refusing to have fun so as not to give optimism (or my parents, or whomever) the satisfaction of being right. I should know better now.