Passing quietly

I have always had an inclination toward the morbid; even as a youth I had thoughts that would be considered suicidal. So as not to alarm and shock you, allow me to explain the finer points of this and you can then pass judgement.

Essentially, my thoughts of suicide would go like this: "As long as I died quickly and didn't end up a quadriplegic on a hospital bed, I wouldn't mind getting 'accidentally' hit by a bus." My basic philosophy has always been that when my time is up, I hope to go quickly and quietly. I certainly don't want to wail and cry or fight it if I have to go. There's nothing more pathetic to me than some dying creature fighting to live and struggling against the inevitable.

Let me put it to you this way: if I'm a gazelle, and a lion is chasing me, I'll run away. It is great fun and excitement to run away from danger and it can actually enhance your sense of "life" and "living". If the lion is able to claw my leg but I can still run, I'll run away. I'll have a nice scar and badge of honour among the gazelles. If, however, the lion bites my hump so I can no longer run, and he's now got his mouth on my throat; then basically, I would then admit that death was imminent and that I should go gracefully.

I propose a flat, singular transactional life; one in which you are always in balance, except for maybe the odd unclosed transaction which, if you died and never got to it, would not matter much. Someone gives you a gift, you say thankyou immediately. One transaction. Suppose you give a gift to someone, and they don't say thank you. You don't care because you've already said thank you to yourself on their behalf and you have no hanging transactions. If someone says "Fuck you asshole motherfucker", you smile knowingly and wave politely. No hanging transactions or recursive opening of transactions ("recursion" in this case is known more popularly as "escalation").

Basically, take care of your shit now. Right now. You might die.

I despise any idiot who lies on the road as their arteries have been severed by a bullet or knife or bus front-end, spending fruitless energy whining and crying "Why me? I have so much to live for. Let me live. Save me." Shut your mouth and just die, already. You should have been ready to die at any moment. It's your own fault you left hanging threads and don't keep your life in order.

In my view, I might be one (or hopefully at most, two) transactions away from being a fully closed ledger. Lately, I've been noticing all these brown spots all over my body. Some are full-fledged moles, most are just freckles. But I secretly hope that they are some sort of cancer that can eat me up. I only hope that I don't deteriorate over too long a time. I can struggle through the pain and keep myself going for a while, I figure. But I worry that if I were to start fainting, falling over, coughing blood, or vomiting uncontrollably; then some fuck-ass interloper like my loved ones or some idiot doctor or 911 technician is going to try to save my dying shit.

As long as I can walk upright and smile, I figure I can let this thing get to me until there's no hope of getting well. Not that I want to anyway. I've got no transactions. Everytime someone tries to open one, I close it as soon as possible. If I ever heard the famous line from a doctor, "You've got six months left to live", I'd be excited with joy.

Sadly, this mental sickness is something I won't share with anyone out loud. I also don't have any skin cancer or other problem that can kill me. The best I can hope for is a car accident. But I am ready to check out when the time comes. I'm sweeping the floor in front of the door that is labeled "exit", waiting for it to open.