Death with Dignity

The love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end.
I don't know if I would have started watching "House" if it hadn't been for that first episode. I had recorded it. When I couldn't sleep, I got up and watched it over and over. My reaction to it was really strange. I felt comforted, fathered. Isn't that wierd. I seem to think that it was right before Christmas, though it might have been in the summer. Whenever. I was hurting. I couldn't tell anybody how or why because I didn't understand myself. The fictional Dr. Greg House, who reminds me a lot of my grandfather, in that program said something that I wanted to hear over and over. You don't die with dignity. To paraphrase: Whether you're 6 or 60, death is always painful and messy; but it's never dignified. You live with dignity, not die with it. I needed to hear that. No matter how much I plot and plan to take my own life with as little pain as possible, every way is gonna be horrible. It probably won't be clean and antiseptic. I'm no Marilyn Monroe. Swallowing so many pills so fast always makes me want to puke whether or not that has anything to do with the chemical composition of the pills. I can just picture waking up in the hospital and being told how somebody found me lying in my own vomit. Disgusting. There's an image you don't forget. Sex is good. Death is bad. That's why God made our bodies such that they really enjoy sex and really don't enjoy death.