Not today, thanks.

In my dream, I was hanging on to a window sill very near the top of the TransAmerica Pyramid, not quite ready to let go and get cheese-gratered all the way down, but considering it.

Awake again, whoa! I don't like suicide dreaming, and have no idea where that nightmare came from.

Sure, there are days when I reflect on what absolute shit my life is — doesn't everyone? — but I've never pondered suicide while I was awake. Doubt I ever will, and I don't appreciate doing so in dreams.

And what a yucky and painful way to go. Climbing out on a ledge and then letting gravity have its way with you, bashing and bruising and bleeding into the windows for 48 floors to the sidewalk? Not today, thanks.

If ever I did have suicidal intent, there are easier, less painful ways to shuffle off. I'd buy and eat a hundred jelly donuts, and lace the last few with sleeping pills.

That would give me plenty of time to reconsider, and if I went through with it, at least I'd leave with a smile on my face.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

It rained again today, and it's miserable trying to sell fish in the rain, but I gotta make a living so I swam to the Ave, and set up my fish stand. There were only three vendors on the block, all of us under a store's awning, illegally dry.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Selling sacrilegious fish on the street, Christians often stop to annoy me with warnings of God's wrath. Not quite daily, and not as often as they used to, but at least several times weekly some sanctimonious believer tells me that God holds a grudge forever so I'm toying with eternal damnation, etc.

Always I argue back — tell 'em I hate Jesus, or fold my hands in mock-prayer and sarcastically ask God's forgiveness, or simply show them my middle fingers. Anything to anger God's foolish followers. Anything to anger God.

Today was different, though. Some white-haired old lady started in with the ordinary stupidity of her religion, but I was wet and tired and grumpy, and didn't have any fight in me. Not today, thanks.

As she prattled on, I simply sat in my chair and watched her lips move. It wouldn't be accurate to say that I listened, but I never interrupted, never said anything, and made no faces or gestures.

When she'd finally finished blessing me with the Lord's hatred, she waited for a response but I had none. She gave one last harrumph and walked away.

It seemed too silly to argue about, and pondering it afterwards, I like the way that encounter went. She got to speak her mind, and seemed to enjoy it. I enjoyed it, too, but didn't participate.

Maybe there's a lesson to be learned, if I'm bright enough to learn it. A lot of life's drama, and arguments, violence, maybe even wars, could be avoided by not arguing about things that are too silly to argue about.

From Pathetic Life #21
Saturday, February 3, 1996 

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life
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