This coming weekend is the 10th anniversary of my planned death. No, I'm not kidding. I was horrifically drunk at the time. I'd been horrifically drunk for over 2 years (well, longer actually, but 2 seems like a good number.) I'd left my ex in November of '94 and moved into my "Apartment of Gloom" on East 78th Street.
I spent the next couple of years a) not working and b) pissing away every dime I'd banked during my lucrative Wall Street years ('83-'94).
By the summer of '97 I was drunk pretty much 24/7/365. The money was rapidly running out and I knew that it was only a matter of weeks before I had to shuck off this mortal coil.
(I'm sorry if this makes anyone out there feel squeamish, but it's the way it was.)
Now, in my insanity I hadn't actually "done" anything to prepare to do myself in. I hadn't bought any weapons or drugs to do the deed with. I vaguely recall having some notion of using "household goods" of some sort or another to do it. I remember a box cutter which I thought would do the trick (don't try this at home, kids), only it turns out you need a tub full of hot water in order to "bleed out". A bucket of warm vomit won't work.
Anyway, I didn't even get that far. The Labor Day weekend arrived and I was drifting in and out of consciousness when suddenly I became dimly aware that "something" was happening. That "something" was the announcement that Princess Diana had been in a horrific auto accident in Paris.
Well, that perked me right up. I remember blearily trying to focus on the screen (I had a 48" Sony XBR rear-projection tv in those days) and thinking (well, sort of), "OH, THISH IS SUCH A TRAGEDITY", so, naturally, I forgot all about dying (me, at any rate) and started thinking about what a wasted young life had been extinguished in Paris that weekend.
And I watched, every time I wasn't passed out, for the next week.
What had been missing from my life for months and even years at that point had been... TA-DAH! drama. Now I had plenty of drama. It wasn't my drama, but I made it my drama.
Anyway, I was pretty insane in those days (as you can tell), but I'm not nearly so now.
10 years ago Princess Di's life, which wasn't supposed to have ended, did. 10 years ago my life, which was supposed to have ended, didn't.
I'm glad God doesn't ask my opinions about anything. I'd be giving her all kinds of crazy-assed advice if She did.