This is

This is a story about a young man named Nicholas Clarke who, at the age of twenty-six decided that he was satisfied with his achievements and killed himself.
I’m not saying for a second that he’d achieved a great deal. In sum total he had thirteen different academic qualifications. He had sustained four relationships in excess of six months, two of these he had felt strongly about and on no fewer than three occasions had contemplated fatherhood, once through circumstance and twice by choice. He was diligent with work, and had held down a moderately well-paid job doing something with paper for two years. He had, on the whole, wrought more good than harm.
When he was twelve he wrote down a list that he headed “life goals.” This is the list:

1) Sustain at least four relationships
2) Hold down a moderately well paying job for a period greater than six months
3) Wreak more good than harm.

One Sunday he realised that he’d held down a job for more than the six
months that he’d set himself. It was a bright and clear day. With a mild sense of anticlimax Nicholas went hell for leather at himself with the breadknife.
This was a story about a young man named Nicholas Clarke. I never said it was going to be very long.