You come home for lunch and spread nothing but mustard on some bread, because you don't really give a fuck and you'd rather be dead. Of course you don't want to die in pain, like drowning whilst kayaking up a drain, or dying due to some cunt's shit effort at flying a plane. But still you're ready to breathe your last, as long as your death is unforeseen and fast. Because at the end of the day, living life becomes pretty lame, when you're struggling to smile every day, struggling to get paid enough to keep the bed's made and the table's laid. Life is supposedly just a game, but if it's all the same, I'd rather just abstain.