Matt's gonna die with his boots on

I have been thinking about suicide lately.

Not that I am contemplating it.

But I am thinking about it.

There was a death in my industry, no cause of death was given, and I worry that this person felt too anguished to live. And if this person -- who seemed so in love with life -- would commit suicide, what hope do I have, as my body trips down the degenerative path it has been put on?

At first, I was thinking I maybe understood why someone would kill himself. No hope for things to get better, a need to rest. I started to think I was describing me. I don't expect life to improve a whole lot and I certainly need my rest (just ask my sister who tried to wake me from a nap and took life five minutes).

But I decided I don't get it at all. Sure, I am tired all the time, but that is why I wear sleeping pants for the majority of the weekend and sleep late and nap long. Life may not get better, but it is not that bad now, Freidriech's ataxia excepted.

Oh hell, counting even FA, it is all right. There is much to live for:

• Friends who give me Emu jerky, which I really do not recommend, or who push me in my stupid manual chair, or who just stop by my desk to chat.
• The janitor who opens the door for me.
• The stranger who moved a chair for me and just gave me a little pat on the shoulder.
• Family who put up with me.

And that is just for this week.