We shouldn't have asked in the first place. Hundred bucks would only have delayed the inevitable. The wife knows where she can stick that tightly rolled-up Benjamin. Dropped a last few hundred at Backhawk. Then we picked a fight with the fellow at whose house we have been staying for the past several months. The next day he invited us to leave and not return. Just go ahead and toss whatever of our stuff you were storing for me and any other odds and ends. We have no place to put it--the old long-term rental is already overflowing. And the storage area is only paid through January so all that stuff will get tossed eventually. Most of that storage room is our mother's stuff. Maybe I can contact her brothers for help.
Thanks, Tom, for the hospitality. We know we were getting on your nerves. It's cold out there and we are tapped, though. You're getting some use out of my old Buick after you invested some time and money. It's a good car for its age and mileage. Plus, you were able to salvage and clean and make a little cash from our refrigerator, dishwasher, etc. from our soon to be former house. I will miss those two cute black cats. O, well.
Guess we should have blown town a month ago before Blackhawk got to us. Nah, that would have only prolonged the inevitable.
Back last June or July we had just gotten back from Vegas, winning 28K in five days. That gave us a total of over 65K. But rather than catch our breath and consolidate, we bolted right back to Vegas a week later and, ultimately, lost the whole shootin' match. So bloody stupid. Someone THAT stupid should not be allowed to live. A lousy compulsive gambler.
A month later we were able to cobble together another smaller bankroll and headed out to LA. Lost that eventually, of course, and then travelled up the coast through Big Sur and beyond.
And then a few weeks later, mirabile scriptu, we stitched together another 4K or so and headed back to LA. Lost 2K of the 4K, then parlayed the last 2k into 20K over a couple weeks. Flying high. Played some poker with Jerry Buss, owner of the Lakers, and also James Woods, the actor. But ended up losing most of that 20K. And we saw some sights in California and Oregon. The redwoods are spectacular, as is the whole coastline for that matter.
Now we find ourself just having entered our 48th year, now REALLY tap city. What does one do? The plan was to lose everything and then dispose of this life of ours. It's very hard, though, to commit suicide. Leaving a mother and sister behind. Friends? Well, folks have their own lives. We wouldn't wish our tendency for self destruction on an enemy. It's a terrible, terrible thing to feel like ending one's life. We've just dug ourself too big a hole to climb out of. The rope, even if someone wanted to throw a lifeline, just won't reach.
Suicide is really not a big deal. Why not finish the plan? Mother is more or less happily situated. Sister Grace will have to fend for herself, which she has done over the years. We wish, of course, that we could have held on to the old City buyer job. Might have taken a month or two to recover and get well. Then look to go back to work, maybe even get rehired. Booze and gambling. Gambling and booze. Fatalistic outlook also got the better of us. Even before Jerome's leap, Dad's death--we had trouble finding that stable equilibrium, a sense of happiness. Fear of the future, of dealing with mother and sister and, even before HIS suicide, our brother always messed with us. We had many opportunities to get better but never did. One has to figure out one's way through this life. There was always a lot of guilt about the lack of success that Jerome and Grace. I went to college, got a job, all that. We had some decent chances at love but were always too much of a loner to make it work. Love created too much stress.
We've been extraordinarily lucky in a lot of ways. Health. Decent constitution in spite of being fat. Eyes still going strong at 48, though reading glasses are now advisable. Ah, the past. Memories are made of it, as Dino crooned. Finished a marathon 27 years ago in 4:04. Not too shabby for a 225 pound guy. Also got the old bench press up above 350--without a spotter, we might add. How many folks can claim BOTH a 4:04 marathon and a 350 pound bench press in the same life. What more is there, really, left to do. We've also had the good fortune to walk around the ancient Acropolis in Athens. Visited the Tower of London. Anne Frank's apartment in Amsterdam. The ruins of ancient Ephesus in Turkey. Can't see everything. Some folks try but just look silly to me. Seeing Rome, southern Italy, Sicily would have been nice. Another trip to see sites we missed in Greece the first time around. Greece could easily handle four or five trips without any danger of retracing steps. Alas, those trips will not happen.
What right do we have, what a huge conceit to even seriously entertain the taking of one's own life, to set the date and time oneself rather than let "Nature" take its course. We are just weary of it all. Tired. Too many mistakes--what's one more! Life is just killing time. And if you can't figure out a way to make it work, then so be it. There it is.
Dean Martin. Joe Namath. Johnny Cash. Movies. Television. One just grows weary of killing time. We could watch those roasts and the Dino TV show over and over again for eternity. Better to kill oneself. Get it over with. Put us out of our misery. Another statistic. How about being the last suicide of 2007 and the first of 2008. Straddle. Middle the f^cking game. Possible. An idea. Yes, we are a coward. But mostly we are just too weak to go on. We see why we must live, why we must go on. But it's just not there. It's hard to pull off a suicide, though. It took a lot of losses, gambling and otherwise. We suppose our brother's suicide set much of the course. Some things you just never get over. The guilt and self-recrimination is just too strong. Would that we had taken control of our life and held onto the job and figured it all out. I know what you might be thinking: It's still not too late. Easy for you to say. We think, unfortunately, that it is. What to do with the car? Park it or die in it? Decisions, decisions. Even in death there are decisions.
To be, or not to be? That is the question. We guess we'll go with the latter. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
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