“I thought about killing myself, but I didn't have a gun. The instantaneousness of a gun made it the only reasonable means of suicide, and since I didn't have one it was difficult to entertain suicide with any seriousness. Still I lay there, in bed, unwilling to get up, wishing to envision myself committing suicide there and then, and frustrated by the refusal of even the image to materialize. Then it occurred to me that I could hang myself. The ceiling was high and somewhere there was rope. I didn't ordinarily think of hanging, because of an ineffectual attempt at it when young, but with a high ceiling, a good rope well secured, and something high to push off of, it might work. There were chairs, but ideally you'd push off from something higher. A small table. I had a small table.
But Christ, how frightening to be up there, four feet off the ground, without a chance of backing out. When I realized I didn't want to kill myself, the bottom fell out of the whole process and, jumping out of bed, I greeted the day.”