I'm Sick Of Being Alive

Here's a list of reasons I'm sick of being alive. I give you this list for no reason, other than the darkness of which I am the heart.

My feet and my knees hurt. All the time.
I have no car.
My ex-wife wants $1500 from me, and I have no idea how I'm going to get it.
My allergies are killing me.
I hate spring.
I have a loser job.
Apparently, I subconsciously want my loser job.
I try, but I can't stop being a selfish jerk.
Someday soon, my daughter will figure out what a chump I am.
I can't sleep well. I haven't slept well for months.
I'm tired all the time.
I know I should shut up and quit whining, but I'm addicted to whining.
I'm a coward.
I'm afraid of failure, but I'm terrified of success.
Most of my old high school friends are married. Nobody but me is divorced.
I know it's stating the obvious, given the content of this blog, but I'm a very bad writer.
I'm getting old, and aging sucks.
My other blogs suck worse than this one.
I don't have enough money.
I'm angry about a lot of things, and there's not a goddamned thing I can do about any of them.
I hate my medication, but I can't stop taking it because I can't sleep without it.
The rest of my life is going to be like this, only with steadily deteriorating physical health.
I'm sick of thinking up lists like this all the time.

What a blog I have! I suck out loud. I leave you with a bit of Shakespeare's MacBeth.

"Out, out, brief candle! Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."