I had a serious talk with someone tonight about the time I considered suicide. I've never done that before. It felt good opening up to someone, even if it was about something that doesn't really matter to anyone but me. I think I've mentioned the occasion before but not the details. I was going through a 'clean' period in 1998. Haircut, shaving daily, wearing clean clothes, exercising when I had a chance and not drinking every other day. They happen now and then. I can remember exactly what was going on. There was a bus that I had to catch between Uni and the place I was living in. It travelled through some of the hills outside Ballarat. I've got the precise moment imprinted in my mind, looking across this paddock that a runoff drain cut through before everything turned to sub-divided investment property heaven. I realised it didn't fucking matter if I lived or died. I idled with the idea of going home and ending it, but I'm pretty damned chicken when it comes to pain. So there you have it: my existential crisis. You weren't expecting it to be actually interesting, were you?