I'm in the Wrong Galaxy

Let me state emphatically at the outset that while I've had a suicidal thought or two in my deepest, darkest moments, I would never do anything to hurt myself, mostly because I'm such a baby when it comes to pain. For example, I fainted when I had my ears pierced. And besides, life is simply too interesting to leave early. All that being said, if it turned out that one absolutely had to commit suicide in order to transcend to a higher and more wonderful State of Being, I now know how I would be able to do it: Just sit me down and force me to watch Guardians of the Galaxy (Vol.1) all the way through, and I'd surely figure out a way to end it all.

Last night, on the advice and consent of two people near and dear to me and in their company, I set out to view the aforementioned film, released in 2014, in the comfort of my own home thanks to Apple TV.  I lasted a full 25 minutes before fleeing the unrelenting noise, silly costumes, plot confusion, bad acting, stupid jokes, annoying soundtrack, amateurish makeup and general nonsense assaulting my eyes and ears. In a word, I found the film appalling. Even worse, my very own husband and visiting best friend stayed glued to the TV, laughing their asses off and loving it. "Oh well, there's no accounting for taste," I thought, writing them off as unsophisticated film simpletons.

This morning, still annoyed that such a movie had even been made, I checked online for film reviews, assuming they would all be negative. But no, every single one of the highly-paid critics had praised the movie to the skies, calling it a masterful masterpiece, witty and fun and even touching and heart-warming. To my horror, a sequel -- Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.2 -- came out in 2017, again to the welcoming arms of fans and critics alike.

I feel so alone. Now that's enough to make me end it all.