Def.: Whine: a repeated complaint without resolution.
Well. Here we are, I guess. Another Saturday. Another beer. It's raining outside. The radio's on. Wife's watching TV in the living room.
There's a conundrum here. Whether I should kill myself now or wait until my wife dies her own natural death. She comes from long-lived stock. I couldn't kill her. She'll live through her own natural time. No homicide-suicide. I do love her. The question is, do I love her enough to stay alive.
The conundrum is whether my decision that wife has veto power over my suicide proves that I am not serious about suicide. A cop-out. How do you say, meaningfully, that you want to kill yourself when you don't go out and do so?
I've planned it out meticulously. Gone over every element. But I still can't forget the picture of my wife alone. She has no family either here or in her native France. She gets social security of $500 a month and would receive survivor's benefits of around $1700 a month if I die. The optimal would be nembutal. A quiet way to go. But it's pratically banned in this country. And it would be expensive for me to go to Mexico or wherever they're selling it without a prescription.
The next best would be a .357 magnum by a reputed manufacturer. It's just easier to maneuver. And it doesn't mess up your face
