All day Saturday I got to lay around being depressed and thinking about suicide. Fuck-shaming all the guys I unintentionally had sex with after the years I spent downing Johnson Brothers bourbon and blacking out. Judgement-shaming society for the perceived hate I feel for stuff I’ve done that no one knows about. Today I had to get up and vacuum all the Pringles crumbs on the side of the bed and go back to work. No fair.

All day at work I’ve been daydreaming about Pity-fest ’17 and thinking about how truly lucky I was to attend. Now at work I’m batting away suicidal thoughts with my animated screen saver that says “H.O.P.E.: Hold On Pain Ends” with a scenic yellow field in the background and really internalizing it. Sometimes when I’m fighting the urge to feel sad I change up my screensaver to respond in a way that makes me feel special. If tomorrow I’m battling with determination I might change it to “You’ve got everything it takes, but it might take everything you’ve got.” I like that one. If it weren’t for these screensaver’s I could easily slip into the resent I feel for not being able to be depressed. Depression was great, what little I got to experience. I have to work, keep my family happy and pay bills. I feel like if I were just a tad bit more motivated I would have the courage to lose it all so I can go back to laying in bed in contemplated the least painful and yet simplest transitional way to kill myself. And if I don’t come up with a sound plan at least I know I get to stay in bed with the lights off and not be inundated with speeches about why I should be thankful for various things. For that I would be grateful.

I wish Pity Fest could last all year the same way Humble-bragging does for some people. I wish in the same way someone might say “It was so great I was able to be a hero at the oil spill and get down on my hands and knees to clean the grease off a duck” I could say, “I felt like killing myself all day and it was better than any given day at work. It. was. a. blast.” I feel like these are sentiments I should save for Pity Fest, actually, so I can lament the fact that I’m probably a terrible person.

Drinking Johnny Bootlegger on a Champagne budget. Editor @ and

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