I Got Me Suicidal

The very first time I heard of suicidal tendencies and their barbaric-driven ways, I always keep my mouth on a big OOOOhhhh…meaning, I do get shocked. Suicide—to kill, to end, to submit oneself to any harm—these are common descriptions of suicides. I do have a different one. In fact, my suicidal tendencies are very common and very ammmm…natural!

One—I do consider myself as one of the busiest, good-looking teachers in our school (genuino narcisisimo). I do a lot of humongous thingamajigs you can never expect. As in. you might expect me to be dead sleep as I reach home. Yeha! You’re wrong. A good friend of mine is a saleslady of a convenience store. She goes out of work usually at 10:00PM or so. But because I am a generally good person (sans doute narcissique), I wait until she goes out. And when the clock strikes 10, leeetttt thheee paaaaaarrrrrtttttyyyyyyy beeeeegggiiinnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There we are, parading with the dust in the wind thought of to be confetti in a blockbuster show. (humains suffisants). And where’s the suicide there? Simple. What time do I get up for school? 5 AM. What time do we end the parti du beau monde? 1 AM. Compute. How many hours do I get for a sleep? You be the genius, compute it. Then the headaches and the body pains and the eye pains all fall like confetti too! Hahahaa! What a joy!

Two—I attended a wedding ceremony. I was compelled to really attend because it was the wedding day of my classmate since elementary. (a guy actually). Then at the reception, when I thought that everything will be just pure eating, I was again in the death row. Cérémonies artistiques as they call it, I saw myself as one of the spectators of an exquisite wedding. And then the emcee announced that some selected guests will be made to speak to the newly-weds. (it was the shining moments for OLD people). After the two old man and woman said their litanies and their testaments, the emcee, with a very humiliating and sarcastic introduction called the name MR. GRACIA RODEL B. DELORIA to speak. I was at the moment of asking myself how old I was. I couldn’t believe it. Oh mon Dieu!I am old. Whaaaatttt????? That was the initial reaction I made. But because I am a practically good person (Amour de moi), I stood up with a dashing smile while staring at the row of old people who by their reactions, might have said to their minds that this young tooooot has nothing to say. (I actually had nothing to say). And then the privilege speech of the century began. And how did I start it? In my suicidal lines: “Ummmm, it is very unlikely for a single person like me to be given the task to talk about marriage when in fact, as of the moment, I don’t have a partner. And so let me grab the opportunity of inviting all of you there who might be interested also in finding your lifetime partners, this may be the moment you’ve been waiting for…” The audience boisterously laughed while I was there, hanging. Dead.

Suicides. La seule façon de vous échapper d'une situation déplaisante.