There will be a couple lessons to my suicide (not that I'll harp on them). 1) Life has no objective meaning, only the meaning we project onto it. That doesn't make life bad; in fact it's what makes life so full of variety, so adaptible, and, hell, part of what makes it so beautiful. But when we run out of meaning we do things like kill ourselves. All that lesson does is correct people who think there's some overarching master plan. (If you believe there is such a thing, go right ahead believing it; it's not like I actually know what I'm talking about.) 2) There aren't always warning signs for suicide. The stereotype that especially bugs me is that suicidal people give shit away. My best friend didn't do that, and I haven't done that. Who the hell wants my crusty socks or something? Although come to think of it, I have secretly put a lot of my music online, as a footprint, and I'm spewing words right now like nobody's business. Hm... Maybe we need new warning signs for the digital world. As part of Project Footprint, I wanna do a brief self-portrait. I'm a college student. I have an in-class essay tomorrow. If you remember Holden's essay on the Egyptians at the start of Catcher in the Rye, that's probably how this one will go. Not the first test I will have failed, but it's always an interesting feeling. I've had that feeling a lot since deciding to bump up bumping myself off to spring break. I know apathy isn't uncommon. Still is interesting though. Two things I do care about are a list of my favorite albums and a collection of little short stories. Even though the list may seem merely a list, it feels artistic, the same way that your emotional response to music is art too, just private art. As for the stories, it's not important that they'll never be published. I just remember that we all evolved from bacteria on rocks, and society's sillier insecurities, priorities, protocols, and conventions float away. The best friend mentioned above killed himself in winter 2010. It was bad for his health and he probably shouldn't have done it. Oh well. I say "best friend," but actually what he and I had was a romantic relationship following several years of best-frienddom; I just feel dumb saying "boyfriend." So did he. In my defense, I have a sense of humor and am nice to everyone. I've got no grudges. Also I don't wallow in self-pity (although of course I used to about Best Friend); I like things in life like when it hails or when it's sunny or when I discover, "Hey, this album is actually pretty good." Not in my defense, I admit I've become super self-absorbed, and also that that doesn't really bother me. I'm twenty (and about to die), why not be self-absorbed? Sometimes, this virgin stares in the mirror and thinks, "Damn, I'm cute." Oh, one more thing. At my high school, back before I was born, there was a boy who disappeared. Unlike Best Friend, they never found him. Now, it turned out this boy had made a suicide pact with his best friend. So one day about six months after the disappearance, after lunch (isn't that hilarious?), this best friend wandered across the hill at our school, stepped into the woods, and shot himself. Two kids in one year! The school felt embarrassed. The Theology teacher gave an impassioned, resonating speech. Years later, Best Friend and I sat Indian-style in a field at night, drunk on being sixteen, and he said, "[Name], if you died, I would kill myself, because I wouldn't want to live in a world without you." But he beat me to it, the old so and so. You know, that old best friend from way back in the day, he wasn't so smart. The Invisible Man coulda reappeared at any time. It must've been that that best friend just didn't look forward to life anymore. His meaning was gone. Don't make out like I'm so stuck in the past, but now it's my turn to walk into them woods (metaphorically). Other than that, I guess I'll let my dead face on the morgue table speak for me. Good night, good morning, or good afternoon! Thanks for reading!