It’s Saturday. Saturdays make me think of Sundays. Sundays make me think of Mondays. And Mondays make me think of, well, suicide.

Oh, not that boo-hoo, my life is so horrible I want to throw myself into the bog of eternal stench suicide. More like, quit my job, start charging everything to my credit cards, go to minimum payments, borrow against my retirement, live off my savings, survive until it all comes crashing down on me, and then put a bullet in my brain (leaving aside, for the moment, that I don’t own a gun and am a coward).

If I went with just the basics that are important to me (beer, satellite TV, and broadband Internet access), I bet I could go for quite a while. Years, maybe (I’d just have to start accepting all those credit card offer I keep getting, get rid of the vehicles, and maybe pawn a few bills off on granny). And it’s quality of life that counts, right? I just can’t see that going to work every day gives me any kind of quality of life. It’s like I have a terminal disease, and working is the chemo that temporarily keeps me alive, but feeling feeble and nauseated (except work happens to be both the treatmen and the disease). Better to quit the treatment, and enjoy whatever time I have left in this miserable existence.

Anyhow, that’s my cheerful thought for the day.