Why I Shall Be Temporarily Suspending Jokes About Wanting to Die
“Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.”
Oh, hi! Didn’t see you there. Ha ha, I am kidding; my will to live gives me exceptional clarity. I. See. Ev-uh-rything now.
Until recently, I was one of you deadbeats, dragging my feet through life without enthusiasm or joy. The sole impetus of my existence was to at some point be hit by a truck without actually having to see it coming.
It would appear that this has changed.
Like you, I spent years functioning (and dysfunctioning) with the call of the void — or l’appel du vide, if you’re feeling fancy, like I am — as the background score of my reality. Today I was awoken to a most confounding revelation: I want to live. Today, a Ford Fiesta almost ran me over and instead of welcoming the loving embrace of death, I caught myself clutching at my heart in horror and thinking, “but I’ve got so much to do!”
LOL, what a trip, amirite?
What brought me to this moment, you ask? Welp, for one, I became owner to a brand new bubblegum-hued case for my iPhone, shaped like a bottle of prescription pills — in no way an allusion to my own partially-treated mental disorder — with the words ‘CHILL PILLS’ inscribed on it. I still haven’t got around to using it, and death would certainly get in the way of achieving that objective.
I could also ascribe this fresh outlook to my increasing need to spite those who hate me. Being dead would definitely mean fewer (OK none) opportunities to exercise self-care and conservation — luxuries I can’t afford but regularly strive for — and consequently no more public displays of Having Gotten My Shit Together to piss off the haterz. Also, it’s hard to hate the dead, and by that I shall not abide. When I go, I want a collective sigh of relief so robust that I hear it in the afterlife/ after-nothingness.
Admittedly, I was also mortified at the thought of falling prey to a custom teal Ford Fiesta and have a video of the event Youtubed for everyone to see. Imagine, hordes of hungry virtual spectators shaking their head in deep disapproval at the absurdity of a beautiful idiot being rear-ended by a Ford Fiesta to death.
I am not sure I could live through that kind of public censure and shaming. I would most certainly have to come back to life to die off in a more respectable manner, and that’s just more work for everybody involved.
While this decadent appetite for life comes at the heavy cost of jokes about the futility of life as we know it and multiple tweets about wanting to kill myself every time the price of avocados goes up, I must persevere and make reluctant friends with this alien emotion.
Don’t worry, dear fellow connoisseurs of hopelessness, for we all damn well know that it takes but one small thing to go awry for me to come entirely unmoored. There will be jokes about death and suffering and wanting to kiss an oncoming train yet.
