Age, Bloody Age.
Mar. 9th, 2026 04:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anniemalThere's only one way out of getting old and creaky. Right. I hav the joy of diabetes. I just have to eat a box of chocolates and a box of Boston Creme doughnuts and lapse into a coma. For the rest of you, the politest (is that a word?) Ummm, the most polite way to kill yourself, according to the woman who knows everything, and I'll attest to it. Quick, when was "the mauve decade"? After some resarch I found it to be the 1870s. Aniline dyes. I am supposed (according to Steve) to be always right. Lisa knows everything. And if I'm always on the side of Truth and Beauty, no matter what the cost, I'm doing my best. Okay?
So, according to sh who has thought about it, you get a motel or hotel room. Do you want to pass in style? light a bunch of candles 'round the tub. Run a nic warm bath. Change th sign on your door to "call 911" so profssionals who are used to handling corpses will b the ons to deal with what you leave behind. Then climb into the tub, breathe deeply, and slit your wrist. Aftr you die you won't have to care.
But keep in mind that this decision is irrevocable. If you're curious about what happens next,you won't get to find out. Be quite sure. Maybe call a friend, if you have one, just to double check.
This was a Sunday morning discussion at our dining room table while we shard The Post. I don't remember what we ate, proving myself of imperfect memory. Damn! It was only thirty years ago.
Not like my Kindergarten tacher's name: Mrs. Pyluck, whose husband taught me in ighth grade for Algebra. but h died halfway through the year, and we had first one mangy sub(a brother of Ginny), then a really bad replacement another fucking relative--mothr of a football jock. Mrs. Cleary Change the "C" to a "B" and you've got the idea. Half the bloody class failed the Rgents' that Year. Stinkin' Vstal Cntral Schools.
Should I have been an investigative journalist? Nah. I'd be dead already.
Oh my. The darling puss has deigned to eat a slice of cold cut turkey breast.
So, according to sh who has thought about it, you get a motel or hotel room. Do you want to pass in style? light a bunch of candles 'round the tub. Run a nic warm bath. Change th sign on your door to "call 911" so profssionals who are used to handling corpses will b the ons to deal with what you leave behind. Then climb into the tub, breathe deeply, and slit your wrist. Aftr you die you won't have to care.
But keep in mind that this decision is irrevocable. If you're curious about what happens next,you won't get to find out. Be quite sure. Maybe call a friend, if you have one, just to double check.
This was a Sunday morning discussion at our dining room table while we shard The Post. I don't remember what we ate, proving myself of imperfect memory. Damn! It was only thirty years ago.
Not like my Kindergarten tacher's name: Mrs. Pyluck, whose husband taught me in ighth grade for Algebra. but h died halfway through the year, and we had first one mangy sub(a brother of Ginny), then a really bad replacement another fucking relative--mothr of a football jock. Mrs. Cleary Change the "C" to a "B" and you've got the idea. Half the bloody class failed the Rgents' that Year. Stinkin' Vstal Cntral Schools.
Should I have been an investigative journalist? Nah. I'd be dead already.
Oh my. The darling puss has deigned to eat a slice of cold cut turkey breast.
