Sometimes I wonder what the point of existing is.

Why do we toil daily like slaves under the harsh scalding sun?

Wouldn’t we all be better off six feet under?

A dark place where the sun can’t reach us.

Where the perils of life can no longer torment us.

Perhaps if I were dead I’d be happier, more content with my nonexistence.

Perhaps then I wouldn’t have to worry about my husband leaving the toilet seat up.