again, plus gore

Exhausted, laying on the couch at work to rest my back, my eyes drift closed. I need to cut my head off, and friends are standing around talking and laughing, examining various office objects that I might use to accomplish the task. Someone hands me a metal ball point pen, and I slowly begin the gruesome work by stabbing it into the side of my neck, pushing it deeper, working it around and pulling it out to stab again. Someone else hands me a pocket knife, I think how this might be easier, and the sadness hits me--I startle awake and go back to pacing when I remember I don't want to die.