My filth consideration demands me to kill myself. Today, a chimney sweeper is going to go to my apartment and spread filth, everywhere. I doubt it's the last time... moving to my apartment won't make anything better; now it will, instead, be the apartment managers that will allow people to come into my apartment, with the main key, when I may well even be naked. They had left a notice in the mailbox, but considering how seldom I would leave my apartment, they could just as well not leave one. I cannot live like that. It is a fact that I have to die. My only hope is that my shares will rise with an extreme amount, so I can buy my own house, but how likely is that, during these economically turbulent times? No, I must die... I wonder which of the neck's blood vessels is the one to cut, if you do not want to choke to death? If you choose the right one, you will just fade away, although you will, of course, feel very cold, but that's not exactly a big deal, if it kills you and is painless. I really do hate life. There's no way I will ever be happy. Even if I do get the money to get my own house, I will still have to find my true love, to be happy, and I will not do that. I hate this so much.