“So I have been having these weird thoughts lately. Like last night, I had a dream where I was shot because of some weird Facebook comments or something stupid. Anyway, someone got angry enough to shoot me and the police came and started questioning me about what happened, you know, while blood was still pouring out of me. And my only thought the whole time they were asking me these questions was ‘why can’t you just let me die?’ Yeah it was messed up. I woke up after that in a cold sweat and at first I was happy that the dream wasn’t real. Then I made the mistake of looking at the pile of shit that I still had to do for school. So my happiness went from being glad I’m alive to sort of wishing it wasn’t a dream. See, I will never be one of those people who commit suicide, that shit is fucked up and kinda makes everyone hate you for awhile. I don’t want people to hate me when I die. I don’t even want pity really. I think I am mostly ok with it. But anyway I was looking at my pile of shit I had to do for the online college and got pretty pissed because I thought getting some online degree would be easy as shit. Then I realized that I don’t even know how I will get a diploma. Will they fax it to me or something? Do I need to purchase a fax machine before I graduate? I hope I pick up the newest line of fax machines and as I am printing out my glorious diploma, it malfunctions and explodes and I die a black and colorful death. I wish I could be the reason for a recall. Actually now that I think about it, what is in those color cartridges? What is color before it is on a page? These are the types of things I wish I would be learning from this dumbass online school. It sure as shit would be more exciting than learning how to manage a fake company. But anyway I think my point is here that I don’t want to die on purpose, but if I died on accident it would be totally fine. Not that I would have a choice anyway unless I am purposely putting myself in harm’s way. I don’t think I am to that point yet, consciously at least. Like one day I hope I am driving to work in a construction zone and one of those steam roller guys hits a switch and rolls right over the hood of my car. I would probably have time to get out but I am not sure that I would try. I could see the guy now yelling ‘get out, the switch broke!’ and I’ll just sit there pretending not to notice the giant fucking metal roller coming my way. Oh, that would be great. If I went to a therapist they would probably just tell me that I am not afraid of death and that might make me a better person in the long run. See, that shit would fix most people but I know it is just a trick. If those management classes taught me anything it is that you can’t earn money from dead clients. If anything these classes are ruining my chances at being ignorant and happy. So the moral of this story is that if you see me hanging out excessively in banks, late night convenience stores, ghettoes if I can find them, or construction zones, you should let me know that my subconscious is trying to kill me and that I should probably do something productive with my life. You know what I mean?” Said Patrick
Jess continued to stare at her coffee as she had been for the past two and a half minutes.
“Yeah,” she sighed.