I watched my mother die about a month ago.¬† She died of lung cancer, and it would be nice to say she died in her sleep but actually she lapsed into a coma from lack of oxygen.¬† Her last conscious hours were filled with the terror and misery of slow suffocation.¬† Her breath was the long slow struggle of a coffee pot at full gargle.¬† For 24 hours.¬† Finally her breaths became fainter and fainter, and then, almost imperceptibly, she didn't breathe at all.
So I've been thinking a lot about death lately.
Actually I want to die.¬† Sometimes I want it so bad I can taste it.¬† I don't want to have to wait for the inevitable, miserable end.¬† I don't want advanced warning.¬† I don't want to spend my last hours knowing I'm going to die but fighting against it anyway.¬† I want my death to be sudden, violent, and unexpected.
I'm not actually suicidal, though.¬† Sure, my life is shit, but if that were a good reason to die it'd be Earth, Population 200.¬† So when I drive to work I ponder what'd happen if the semi next to me blew a tire but I don't try to help it along.
When I arrived at work tonight I arrived at chaos.¬† It seems the Bigwig, the Founder himself, was coming to visit.¬† As I've mentioned before, I work inventory in the distribution center for a well-known contact lens distribution company (which you've probably heard of).¬† On a normal night I spend four hours standing around counting things.¬† Not the most exciting job ever, but at least I don't have to deal with The Public.¬† But this was not a normal night.¬† Tonight I arrived and was told I was going to...dust.¬†
Those who have been in warehouses have already let out a peal of laughter.¬† Dusting a warehouse is like icing a shit cake.¬† I was given a rag that had clearly been used to dust the warehouse the last time it happened (maybe a decade ago), and I set about smearing the grime around.
It's really a pointless job.¬† There's only so much you can do with full shelves.¬† And really, how long was this guy going to be there?¬† Maybe 15 minutes walkthrough.¬† I imagined him, a faceless Donald Trump with a pair of white gloves.¬† He wipes it across a shelf, frowns at the result, and announces, "You're fired.¬† You're all fired!"¬†
In the grand scheme of things, a bit of dust really doesn't matter.¬† But in the grand scheme of things, nothing matters really.¬† Everyone with eyes can see that human civilisation is going to shit.¬† Either God or Mother Nature or North Korea is going to bomb the everliving fuck out of us and we'll all go down in the savagery and chaos of anarchy.¬†
Now some of you might be getting visions of Mad Max dancing about in his head.¬† I say, fuck that shit.¬† I hate camping with the passion normally reserved for homofags and dirty hippies; no way in fuck am I going to live the rest of my life without water or electricity.¬† Also, I am nearly blind and would have to survive on my shitty, shitty glasses after my contacts tore to shreds on my eyes.¬† But I probably wouldn't survive that long, because people like me are subject to rape and pillage.¬† I have a vagina; ergo I am commodity.¬†
No, I have no illusions about the dystopian future.¬† When armageddon comes, I'll finally have a good excuse to kill myself.¬† Then I'll eat every narcotic I own and take one final, hot bath (heres to optimism).
Or motherfucking kill me.¬†
had to say it.