Thursday October 19th 2006, 7:26 am
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To My Demons,

Goodbye Chris, Hello Monster! Saturday, 10:00 PM: I am at work, bored out of my tits. Tonight the computer lab will be open until midnight for no reason at all. There’s not a single person here working on their projects. However, our management feels it necessary to employ (enslave) three workers to secure the lab. The mismanagement of companies irks me to no end. Hopefully my next job will be with a management team that actually pays attention to the work involved. One reason I didn’t like this job in the first place was because there was no room for improvement. The system is set in stone, and therefore cannot be changed for the better of the company. The job had no prospects of a raise, of an increase in responsibilities for the employees, nothing. How can one expect to feel like one has accomplished something, if one is stuck in a mundane job? I remember at the initial job interview, I almost didn’t get the job here because I actually like responsibility and improvement. I am too ambitious for such a static work environment. And so, in response to this banality, I have decided to drink on the job. On my 1st break, I bought a can of Sapporo, and chugged that before I came back into the lab. When the effects of the Sapporo were wearing off, I went out and bought a half pint of Jack Daniels, which I am now sipping on while sitting in the lab. Since there’s no one here who gives a flying fuck whether I am drunk or not, I have decided to get hammered before I leave this vocation tonight. Although the qualms I have with my corrupt job are quite substantial, they’re not the entire reason why I’ve decided to drink tonight. All day today I have been contemplating how pointless my life is. The demons inside me are whispering in my ear— words of death and suicide. Everywhere I turn, an object of self-destruction calls to me. The subway would be a quick and easy death. Running in front of a bus would do the trick as well. Slicing my throat with a straight edge razor could work, although any sharp object would finish me off just as well. I’ve contemplated electrocution but I doubt I could manage to guarantee my finality with the means I have. I wouldn’t kill myself at Robert’s house, just out of respect for their family. Who wants to live in a house where someone committed suicide? And so, a toaster in the bathtub is out of the question. On Mission Street I could spend $100 dollars to buy enough heroin to overdose and die. I could jump off of the Golden Gate Bridge and make my death a cliché, or I could turn my suicide into an art project like Ray Thomson did when he jumped off a bridge in 1995. There are too many options for me to choose which death I could give myself tonight. I am supersaturated with demonic ideas at this point. Do you ask yourself these questions? Are you satisfied with your existence? Do you think about killing yourself? Tonight? This evening?

-The Saint.

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