Last night I really wanted to kill myself. This is not a new thing. I've wanted to kill myself periodically for most of my life, although there's really no way to do it periodically if you do it right the first time (again, kudos to Brian!). Luckily for my creditors, I've reached a happy equilibrium in my old age where I recognize the urge for self-cancellation as an aberrant thought that indicates an unbalanced mind. I then eat some grapes and go to sleep, and usually wake up feeling fine the next day. Today is the next day. I feel fine.
Another thing that keeps me alive is, to pick up from the last post, the fact that my parents relentlessly continue to live. My mother raised me to exhibit good manners, and to murder myself while they're still waiting to die strikes me as particularly uncouth. I don't want to force my parents to bury me, although they do enjoy gardening.
So I, like everyone else, will trudge along joylessly until the Reaper gets off his shiftless bony ass and gets the job done. I don't love hating everything, but, as fellow blogger Jiddu Krishnamurti tweeted: "it is no measure of health 2 b well adjusted 2 a profoundly sick society." He's our honorary picture explainer for the day, as he was surely describing the type of society composed of persons that would elect a government that would erect signage instructing citizens to randomly blind other persons.
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