It’s been snowing all week in Colorado. I borrowed my mother’s car because my pickup is unsafe, but this morning I just wanted to leave a note that said “A snowstorm is a pleasant way to die” and then drive my pickup to work, thereby increasing my chances of biting the dust. Instead, I put the pickup in four-wheel-drive, headed up the hill to my mother’s, and borrowed her car. I’m not sure why–an accident would be a relatively easy way to go (although you’d have no guarantees that you’d actually die–you might be paralyzed or something else). Maybe it’s because, since it’s almost Christmas, my death would put a damper on many lives. People here like me. So here I am, still alive, but wishing I were dead.