when you think of how old you are do you sometimes think, wistfully, about topping yourself?
not in a serious way, just in a that would be nice even though itll never happen way.
Maybe not topping myself - it would make too many people happy, and I'd probably balls it up and end up paralysed (but all too fucking conscious) instead.
But whereas the Grim Reaper was once a distant shadow figure - twitching at the net curtains as I gaily buzzed his front door bell and ran away laughing - he's now more like a next door neighbour. Occasionally, I hear the cunt hoovering.
Put simply, I want to die before Alzheimer's has a chance to turn my brain to toxic porridge, as it's done to so many in my family. I don't want to end up lying in a warm puddle of piss, while a bored nurse takes selfies and old folk around me howl and fart like baby macaques. I don't want to wake up wishing I could walk through town without piercing jolts of arthritic pain, scared to turn on the heating in case British Gas sends the bailiffs around. I don't want to be at the mercy of the strong and sadistic, without a fair chance of fighting back. I don't want little teenage wanks asking me about the Big Beat Wars.
Subsequently, I'm considering smoking again, having quit for 2 years. And I would like to time it so I go out spangled, with a gargantuan cocktail of drugs and booze that'd lay an army to waste.