If you've got even a modicum of spark left in you, then... no suicide.
I've got a little bit of spark, so... no suicide.
But I was just recently thinking: I've got no job, no car, no cat, no friends, no nothing... And July 4 is a stand-out date to me: the last time I had sex. AND that last sex happened to be a re-tread with my very first girlfriend years after we broke up. After the bad sex, she and I went and watched the shitty Austin fireworks and tried to make conversation...Blah. But, thankfully, end of my 10-year obsession.
Now that I have no job, I'll be able to make June 1 rent. July 1 rent: doubtful. But the July 4 NYC fireworks on the Hudson are going to be spectacular from where I live. I'm definitely going to be around to see them.
After July 4: I ain't going back to Texas. I don't want a roommate. I ain't movin' to Cleveland or someplace just to have a job.
I've never actually thought about killing myself, and I won't. But if I were to do so: July 5 would be the date.
How to do it, though? The easiest ways seem to be by pills or by gas/exhaust fumes (Plath/Sexton). I don't have any prescriptions, and I don't have access to a garage... Oh, but wait---I do have a gas stove! (Though, I've heard that gas today isn't the same as gas 40 years ago... Turning on my Weehawken gas stove probably won't kill me.)
Being in New York, jumping off a glamorous building or the Brooklyn Bridge seems like an option, but... NO. Jesus. I've read stories of jumping survivors who told about being half-way down and having regrets. (Even if I hadn't read those stories, I know that I'd be half-way down and having regrets. I fucking THINK too much. I don't want to be frantically regretting while in motion while I'm en route to dying. I want to just lie in my bed and peacefully just fade out, while listening to the Beatles and Julie London and being alone with my thoughts about what and who I've loved.)
It's funny how long I think it'll take anyone to notice my spirit isn't still here! :) People from the Joan message board will probably start to comment on my absence at the end of July. (And then really freak once no payments are made to my domain and the company cancels the actual Joan website circa September or October.) And even my mom probably won't figure it ("it" being "my absence") out until weeks after my August 11 birthday when she doesn't hear from me.
July 5. It's interesting to think about. Not that my mom will ever be able to figure out how to find these instructions here on this random blog that she doesn't know about, but, just in case (Brother Thomas -- you've been here on this blog; here's exactly what I want):
No burial. Cremation. And toss my ashes, along with Gracie's (sitting in a box in my bedroom), over the Hudson River. I repeat: The Hudson. Don't EVEN cart any part of me back to Texas.