Sometimes I feel like I ought to be able to fly—like I have the capacity but just can’t do it because society and science have leeched the wonder out of the world. I think one day I will jump off a building. It won’t be because I am depressed or because I want to die. I’m not delusional, though. I know I will die, whether or not that is my goal. I just want to jump to feel the wind in my face and the split-second wonder of Iamflying! before gravity inevitably drags me down. I would want to die in that moment of freedom. Maybe I’ll hire a hit man to shoot me dead while I’m in the air. Shit, I bet that takes a lot of money.

I know what you’re thinking. She’s insane. Maybe I am. She’s stupid. Why doesn’t she just go parachuting or bungee jumping? That takes the magic away. She thinks she has nothing to live for. Untrue. If you passed me on the street, you would never believe I want to jump off a building. I’m happy and energetic and enjoy my life and my friends. I just feel like there is some wonder or magic to life that is missing from mine.