I really am ready to die. Notorious B.I.G. released an album called Ready to Die, and, before long, he was dead. So, perhaps by titling this likewise, I have sealed my fate. Death seems to be better than life. It's easier. That's what I believe. There's no pain in death: no suffering. They just sleep all the time, which sounds great to me.
I've noticed a pattern. I get up. I take a shit and wipe my ass, which makes me hate life. I hear my shitty neighbors, and, as a result, I hate life. More shitting and wiping, which makes me hate life even more. I go to work, which makes me hate life over and over again every time. Driving makes me hate life too; it's so stressful. All sorts of shitty things make me hate life. I suppose I just hate life.
I've mentioned guzzling antifreeze here before. Before one does anything life that, one should know what the consequences will be. I Googled that a little, and it seems like a horrible way to die. My point about that is, if I drink some of it, then, in my mind at least, I'll be fucked, and so I might as well jump or hang, because I've damaged myself (perhaps irrevocably) with the antifreeze (Or should one refer to it as "coolant" if one sips it in the summer?).
