Too much pessimistic literature (e.g., HP Lovecraft, Thomas Ligotti, and EM Cioran) is starting to mess with my head:
I actually thought Woody and the crew were going to die in the incinerator. I was hoping for their death and, subsequently, the cessation of their existential despair of being mere toys, so I thought they were really going to die in the incinerator. I also thought a weird, cosmic inspired Buddhist poem would come up after the toys died. Lol, I am messed up.