This is the old bad talking. At this point I'm talking about suicide. Now that's a very tough topic. I would prefer to avoid it like most other people would. But if you're a bipolar, you go through those cycles, you feel it real good, you know, you're going to get a reaction to that, and when you're down at the depths, right? That's when the thoughts of suicide come along. I have them. If you're a bipolar, you have them. How to redeem with them. I made one attempt on my life when I was like 26, just out of the mental hospital, living in a chronic phillage, having a little trouble connected with people. I had a job, but it's... what's that about? So I decided that... I really decided that this was the end. I was getting deep depression after going through a strong manic eye, so I put the stuff together that I needed. I did it on a Friday night, so I wouldn't be met this until Monday morning. I remember lighty to the cigar, going through a walk through the city streets that he just would be by last cigar, went up to my fourth floor walk-up, adjusted the paraphernalia, and just as I had the plastic bag on my right, I had the ether, thereby by the way, I breathed as I was just drifted off all of a sudden my right hand came up and pulled that bag off, just like that, as a second. As if, you know, I wasn't thinking about it, as if it was the body's own reaction. I drifted off right after that, broke up like... well, I don't remember exactly, but it was something like 24 hours later, maybe not quite, and by little room, the ether rags still by my face, the rubber band still on my neck, and the plastic bag just above my head, and I was alive. Well, the immediate reaction is one of release, that release, and I got something to eat or whatever went into work on Monday morning, as I was riding up in the elevator with a fellow employee, she says, oh, you have a cold, you know, I sense that I wasn't feeling too good. It was a spell of ether on my breath that was still available. Now, ether's a very dangerous stuff, ether could kill you, better than dead, so don't play around with this stuff, but I thought that what a base B was my old body's desire to survive. What made that hand move? What kept me alive? And so I was thinking about that many times since I'm now 72, so that was back, about 68, that all occurred, and boy, I've had dipped a lot of life sits, I've had my problems, but there have been bovets of pleasure and delight along the way. Now, I don't want to hold myself up as any sort of as a model bipolar patient, none of us know what the future will hold, I don't know what my future will hold, but at least I've enjoyed all those years thanks to that right hand. And if you're contemplating in the near life, remember my little story, how much your body wants to live, and do your best, your darkness, to keep on going, keep on pushing despite how black they see, but I don't think it's very black to see what life has to offer you. I guarantee it won't be all bad. This is Old Bad Talking. Bye bye.