Suicidal Ideations

Killer’s last thoughts (almost)

I might have mentioned an irrational dislike I have for a co-worker in the past. As a matter of fact, I might have written an entire post about it.

Tonight I was cornered by the above mentioned irrationally disliked coworker. It was obvious I was not busy, because I was sitting by myself, drinking some fresh brewed 100% Kona coffee (because that’s how I roll), with my feet propped up on the desk. I was contemplating the ease of my work night and enjoying the solitude when she suddenly appeared in front of me in her full manic glory.

Tonight she is wearing a disgustingly tight, sheer white t-shirt, lime green Capri pants, with a matching one inch stripe of lime green eyeliner above her eyes. She is very happy to see me and begins to tell me about how her and her husband just moved their travel trailer to a new mobile home park.

The following is my brain’s internal debate during what was very close to being the last five minutes of my life.

Oh shit! How did I not see her come in? I don’t think there is any way out of here. I could fake a seizure, but I might spill my coffee. This is 100% Kona damn it! I should just leap up and kill her right now. No, that would mean I would spend the rest of my life in prison and be stuck thinking about her forever.

What has she done with her makeup? It looks like the 80’s exploded in her face. This is too much. Screw me running; she is talking about her new trailer park. That makeup plus bragging about your luxurious new trailer park is stereotypical overload. I want to die.

Man, when she laughs it is like my ear drums are being gang raped by an angry group of bikers. I wonder if she would suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder if I pulled out a scalpel and sliced my wrists.

That t-shirt is so damn tight it’s as if she is wearing saran wrap. If I have to look at her boobs much longer I am going to swear off tits forever. There should be laws that if your nipples are lower than your belly button you should have to wear a sweater for the rest of your life. SHIT! I think she just caught me looking at her boobs, and she smiled. Now she is going to think I am ogling her cans. That does it, I have to die now. There is no other choice.

Okay, how can I do it? If I am going to take my own life, it had better be soon, she has not shut up about that damn trailer park. I was bluffing about cutting my wrists. I don’t have a scalpel on me. How about pulling the computer’s network cable up and wrapping it around my throat until I choke violently at her feet?

She’s a nurse damn it! She would probably drop down and revive me with CPR and mouth to mouth. THAT would be the perfect ironic twist to my suicide attempt. I kill myself to escape her, but am brought back to life only to find her lips locked with mine. I have to kill myself in a decisive, no retreat-no surrender type of way.

Okay, I lick my own hand, grab that spoon and cram it full force into the electrical outlet. Beautiful plan, if she tries to save me she will get fried as well. I just hope she doesn’t think I am licking my hand as sexual harassment. I wouldn’t want her suing my family posthumously.

Wait! Her phone is ringing. She has to go to the ER for an emergency. Relief! Reprieve! Rejoice! I am going to call my Mom immediately and tell her I love her. She almost lost a son tonight and she would never have known why. I want to run down the hall cheering like a mad man! Okay, Okay, you can stop licking your hand already; people are starting to stare.