Actually, not really. I'm pretty happy most of the time. I do imagine myself being hit by a truck sometimes... after jumping off an overpass. But it seems pretty unlikely that I would ever do such a thing; I'm a talker more than a doer and besides, jumping from an overpass with no means of restraint takes real courage, a kind of courage I doubt I could ever muster. Truth be told, most of my suicide attempts are just cries for help. Take today when I smeared Equate brand Ultra Strength Muscle Rub over my entire body. I was certain saturating every square inch of my skin with this powerful ointment would deliver the lethal dose I so desperately needed but just to be sure, I also smeared an extra-thick coating onto my pubic hair and put my Speedo on over it. That way my hemlock would continue to be absorbed through the blood-rich skin of my groin long after a camphor-induced coma rendered my slimy hands useless. As it happened today, no coma occurred. Instead, I just sat there on the couch with a hard-on watching the Canadian women's hockey team demolish the shellshocked but still stunningly beautiful Swiss team.
No one hears my cries!