I’d really like to say that I’m doing this for noble reasons. I’d like to give a more legitimate excuse. Something sad and agonized, perhaps.

As much as I’d like to give you a good reason, I can’t. I’m not a tortured soul. I’ve never had a tragic romance or a traumatic event. My life is comfortable and stable and filled with reliable friends. I have every reason to live, really.

So, you see, I didn’t slit my wrists (the right way) because I’m in pain or emotionally wrecked.

I did it because when I get up in the morning, my back aches two decades prematurely. I did it because my teeth hurt and I can’t afford to fix them. I did it because my every single day is spent with or avoiding junkies. I did it because it doesn’t hurt when people ignore me anymore. I did it because the milk is expired and I don’t want to clean the bathtub and I keep stubbing my toe and there’s nothing good on T.V. and I’ll never be paid much more than minimum wage.

I did it because, above all things, I just want some goddamn rest.