“I imagined hiding until everyone left the store and then using the machine to mishandle a palette from up high, make it fall on my head.
Just expertly dropping a big wooden palette on my head while placing my head sideways against the unpainted concrete floor.
I could kill myself and make it look accidental.
The best of both worlds.
Fucking certified.
No, think I’d only drop a pallet on my head though if I were able to live through it—and watch the first person to find me.
That was the promise I made to myself, as the other employee was talking to me again.
He said something about ‘Re-stocking’ but I wasn’t listening.
Because I was trying as hard as I could to fully feel the pain I’d experience—as if living through the experience of getting my head crushed by a wooden palette.
What would it be like.
What if it felt exactly the same as eating like, a cracker with peanut butter on it.
What if all experiences occurred from the same foundation of excitement, and it just registered in different ways, but each attempt was an attempt at it all.
I saw the sight of my head getting crushed and coming inside-out.
And it wasn’t painful.
It wasn’t gross.
But calming and quiet to see.
I could appreciate it.”