Listen, I get it. Life’s a drag. It’s a slog. Every day is a slow march through through a filthy, sweltering swamp with a 30 pound rucksack on your back and very little hope that Charlie will pop out of the weeds to put a merciful bullet in the back of your skull before you reach your destination.

There’s a lot of time to fill between the moment you wake up in the morning and the dark hours you’ll spend lying in bed, consumed with irrational anxiety, praying for sleep or death. And so we find relief in fantasy. We imbue the mundane places and objects of our demoralizing routine with magical potential. We transform a lukewarm shower into a cascading waterfall. An inbox full of unanswered work emails becomes a dragon to be slain. We look at a coat rack and think, “I could definitely tie a rope around one of those hooks and hang myself from it until I am dead.”

Indeed any given day offers us a multitude of novel opportunities to fantasize about slowly asphyxiating while our feet dangle helplessly above the ground. We just need to be willing to look for them. So, as evidence that our dreams have no limit, here are five ordinary places from my daily life where I have died countless times, if only in my imagination.

5. My Bedroom Doorway

You’ve probably heard that Winston Churchill once said that democracy was the worst form of government, except for all of the others. Well, waking up is the worst moment of the day, except all the others. But it helps to take the edge off if your sleep-filled eyes are immediately met with a promising means of slow suffocation. The method here would be a simple one. Very little preparation required. All I would need is my belt and the chair that already sits right next to the doorway. When closed, the door fits very snugly between the jambs. So all I would have to do is leave the door just slightly ajar, set the chair in front of it, wrap the belt around my neck, climb on the chair, and close the tail of the belt between the door and the top of the frame. Then it’s give me one step, mister, and I’m out of this earthly dive bar for good. You won’t catch me in this shithole again.

4. The Attic at Work

Look at that steel girder! Isn’t she beautiful? Who wouldn’t want to die in her arms? (Or suspended below them.) Can’t you just sense her tensile strength? The full bulk of a 135 pound man would mean nothing to her. She’s wouldn’t buckle, wouldn’t even think of bending. I may be a burden to everyone else in my life, but she wouldn’t mind the weight. Plus, she’d only have to hold me for an hour or two until some unfortunate coworker on the hunt for a fresh roll of scotch tape (or a moment of peace and quiet) made the inevitable discovery. Sorry buddy. But he’s fortunate, really. No one’s going to ask him any questions next time he needs to take a mental health day.

3. My Office Doorway

Alright, you got me. I have a thing for doors. But think of it this way: imagine passing under a doorway and knowing you’ll never have to walk back through it in the other direction. That’s freedom, boys. That’s relief. Let the one pair of footprints in the sand (or on the stained Olefin carpet) be the paramedic carrying your lifeless corpse. Why walk when there’s a chariot idling at the gates of Heaven (or where the fuck ever) just for you? Granted, even the smallest, most demeaning office is roomier than a coffin, but you won’t have to share the coffin with an intern.

2. The Parking Lot Behind My Apartment Building

This one is almost too tempting. Check out the rungs on that telephone pole. It’s a ladder! The higher the fall, the more likely my neck is to snap when the rope goes taunt. That’s an instant, painless death. Mind you, I’d be cheating myself of the ever-increasing, throbbing pressure in my head and lungs, asphyxia’s foreplay, but life is nothing if not a series of compromises. That said, the real selling point here is the location. I would get to breathe my last desperate, strained breaths directly above four filthy garbage cans. Hell, if I did the deed on trash collection day, maybe my city’s fine sanitation engineers would just toss me into the back of the truck and I could decompose in a landfill with the rest of the organic waste. It wouldn’t exactly be a green burial, but I don’t want some freeloading asshole rosebush to benefit from my passing anyway.

1. My Balcony

Step into the light? Don’t mind if I do. Sure, maybe I’ll cause a scene―the music of ambulance sirens, a fire truck with its ladder at half staff in my honor, neighbors who I’ve never made eye contact with finally getting a good look―but why shouldn’t my death have an audience? Why shouldn’t I get a few paragraphs in our dying (but not as fast as me) local paper? Let me shit my pants on that stage. (I won’t break a leg, but …) If my death is going to humiliating, it should at least be a public humiliation. I’m tired of private, intimate humiliations. If I’m a fool, hell, I’ll dance for them. I’ll jump Jim Crow. Just don’t expect me to exit stage right when the show is over. You’ll have to cut me down.

So what about you? Do you have any favorite suicidal fantasies you’d like to share? If so, email us or hit us up on facebook or twitter. I can’t be alone, right? Please don’t let me be alone.