They circled around for a while and finally found the house. She felt so incredibly shitty sitting there in the car, in front of the shittiest house in the shittiest neighborhood, after a 13-hour flight, with an authentic mother-fucker. She tried to focus, took deep breaths, repeating the mantra ‘kill me please, kill me now’, thinking how handy a Game-Over button could have been right now.She didn't even feel like being famous anymore. It was just that she didn't know what else she could possibly want out of life, and ending it was such a huge fucking task in itself. She always figured that if she had the will power and energy to set up her own suicide, then she would just go ahead and set up a couple of other things while she was at it. Good shit. Productable shit, but killing one's self is hard. It's such a huge project when you really think about it and start planning ahead. It actually makes you want to live a while longer.
