No Right to Complain!

Another shitty day: literally.  Once again, I started work at 6:00 am: so early.  Because of OCD, I get up at 4:09 am when I have to be at work at 6.  I need the extra time to wipe my ass, which I do excessively: even when I'm on antidepressants, which are supposed to help with such compulsions.  What can I say?  I hate shit; it's gross.  I almost never get all the shit out of me before I have to leave for work at 5:40 am.  I hate shitting and wiping, but I REALLY hate to do it anywhere besides my home.  It's an OCD thing.  So I frequently end up holding my shit in at work on days I start working at 6.  This day was no different.  It can be quite uncomfortable.  But unless it's an absolute emergency, I will hold it in: even if it's a lot of shit.
It was a busy day at work, which reminded me that I wanted to write this, so I'll get to the point.  If you have brought a child into this world, and you are waiting in line (at a store, for instance) or you are stuck in traffic, then you have no right to complain!  A line at a register in a store, traffic, these are the results of overpopulation!  And you have either contributed it by having kids or you haven't (like me).  You did the typical thing.  You wanted a little baby to cheer you up, and that mattered more than your concern about all the horrible things that could happen to your baby.  You also don't have the right to complain about overpopulation.  I heard Al Gore, on TV, complaining about overpopulation.  My first thought was "hypocrite!"  Al Gore has 4 kids!  He's contributed to the overpopulation of this planet 4 times!  Shut the fuck up!  You have no credibility when it comes to this issue! 
Then I came home, and my neighbors were playing their TV very loudly.  I'm glad they're leaving at the end of the month, but who will replace them?  What do you prefer: the devil you know or the devil you don't know?  They could be worse.       

Ready to Die

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?).