Suicide is Everywhere

As banal an event as reading a book involves suicide. My chosen diversion, to help stave off that day, was The Best American Sports Writing 2005. Quickly two stories involved suicides. A golf outing was an annual memorial, now 20 years strong, to a college immolation. Followed by back to back steroid stories - Ken Caminiti follows steroids to crack, and yet another college age student hoes the steriod rage road to isolation and suicide.

Must I be bombarded in my banality by these tropes of failure? Must my diversions hark on the improbable but possible? Not that I care, but these suicides have so much more going for them than me. Their stories are successes gone awry. How quickly would they have succomned in my position: a life consisting only of failures? Complete isolation? A loveless singular existence? A suicide when married, with children is the most incredibly selfish act of all. For myself, this would be quite a self-less act. A saving of the planet of resouces. Or else, it would be a quiet act that no one cares about.

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