where it all starts

i told my friend about my grandfather passing and he gave the standard reply of: oh, im sorry. and i gave my standard reply of: dont worry about it, its not your fault. and he laughed and said i was always able to lift his spirits.

he then went on to say he was depressed and he felt like dying and i went on to tell him that the easiest way to die is to live like youre not going to. he said that was sage advice and he was glad he had me around to talk to.

he mentioned he had stopped taking the anti-depressants he was prescribed because they made him feel lazy and uninspired and he never wanted to do anything when he was on them. he said they stole the character out of him and he would rather feel like being dead than just simply being alive and nothing else. he said they made life predictable and he couldnt stand knowing the next day would be the same as today. that today had nothing to offer. i said i know. he said thanks for understanding.

we talked about movies for a little while after that. then about music. then about being high. then about movies again.

(i thought of how she was on lithium and thorozine and how she laid around so much. she never cleaned the house. she never watched tv. she never finished that book she started to write [it reached around one hundred pages]. she was only there and that was that. after a while she would start to flush her medication, and i can see why. it prevented her from living. i would have done the same thing. i promise i would.)

then i started to see what he was saying. he wanted to begin again. he had reached another end. -well, i said, i gotta go. and he said back, -ok dude, i'll talk to you later.

and there you have it, another meditation on boredom.

end bit.