All I have to do is not go to the bank. It's that simple. I don't need to do something, I just need to not do something. I'm expert at not doing something. Don't transfer anymore money from the States and face the fact that all I have left is all there is. It's a little bit like John's WTF I've Got Cancer? blog when he decided to stop chemo. He had Stage IV terminal colon cancer so he accepted statistically that he was going to die. Chemo just gave him increments of extra time to live, but he was never willing to sacrifice quality of life (subjective and fluidly assessed) to live longer. And it was when he decided dealing with the U.S. health care-pharmaceutical juggernaut was too complicated, farcical and frustrating, and that the emotional, mental effect on his quality of life was intolerable, he said 'fuck it', no more chemo. Even when the drugs came through, he was resolved to not take them. Fuck it. He was done with all that.

I think I've reached that level of resignation where it is no longer worth it to keep trying to get injections into my bank account that allow me to live a little longer, just to maintain . . . *this* (you have to imagine me spreading my hands in sarcastic presentation of my studio apartment that represents all my shattered hopes and, um, dreams). Going to the bank and dealing with the joyless and permanently cranky workers in the foreign exchange was always unpleasant. I'm sure not a single one of them listens to show tunes. It was also personally humiliating since it's not my money, I'm just mooching, and I'm constantly bitching and moaning about my worthless life when suicide is my affirmative goal. Even I can't sympathize with myself!

I should now consider the current remaining reserve funds definitely finite. We have loomage. Mind you, I haven't crossed the point of know return yet, meaning if I went to the bank today I wouldn't run out of reserves before the expected 2-4 months for funds to go through. So I'm still just spouting theory. But the more I just don't do anything, it will become reality. All I have to do is not do anything. Don't even think, even though thinking about it does remind me of the miserable experience of going to the bank and how I'd rather not. 

And remember (me, myself) I don't even want to be here anymore, I don't like being me, and any moment I focus on during the day just reminds me how worthless and undesirable every bit of this is (in a non-negative, not-depressing paradigm, believe it or not). Really the only thing I'm attached to is the habit. The habit of being me, of existence. The habit of being attached, the habit that resets every day just to go around and do it again; every day's little annoyances of things not going quite how I want, fixing the bits that I can and bits where they turn out fine, then shower, wash the shot glass, brush-a da teeth, lights out and reset. It's great! Just not my aspiration.

Oh yeah, and the alcoholism. Nothing going right there anytime soon. Or ever at all. You know what? I'ma take issue with alcoholism. I look up alcoholism and read up on it and I really don't fall under the definition of alcoholic. I only accede to the label to avoid being accused of being in denial. But no one's accusing me of anything, no one's even here, so I opine for the record that I wasn't really alcoholic.

Heavy drinker? That's harder to dismiss. I ration a third of a bottle of liquor per day, plus limited dipping into reserve bottles which also happens every day after the third runs out, usually the next morning. I look at a third of a bottle and it just doesn't look like much. But then I asked someone if he thought it was a lot, and for him he said that was a LOT. Mind you, I don't know about now but he was a pothead when I knew him, as much as a Ph.D.-former-NASA-employee astrophysicist can be a pothead. He now sells kalimbas for a living and the Grateful Dead is his favorite band of all time as much as Genesis is mine (he only quit NASA because they shut down their Socorro, NM, field station and he didn't want to relocate to D.C. to stay with the agency). I don't think he was a drinker, but he wasn't substance-free.

I'll settle for heavy drinker. I drink to detriment in that I can't deny ill health effects of alcohol consumption. I'm pretty sure my engorged gut is alcohol-related ascites without going to doctor and facing a bevy of tests saying that's probably so. And I'll attribute my gastrointestinal issues to alcohol, too. Alcohol wreaks havoc on the liver and the liver provides bile to the intestines to help with digestion, so if my liver function is presumably being compromised, then it's not a stretch to think that the gastrointestinal issues are alcohol related, even without an examination and a bevy of tests to probably tell me the obvious.