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Before I get into anything particularly drama-inducing, I should point out that I love my life. I finally have the life Iapos;ve wanted since I left my last class in 2004, and I would never dream of doing anything that would jeopardize this life that Iapos;ve built for myself.

I had just left the bus when the skytrain whispered into station above me. I figured that if I put a move on, I could get on and get to Waterfront station within tenish minutes. Thatapos;d give me enough time to get a coffee at Starbucks and get on the seabus. As luck would have it, I just squeaked inside after bounding up the stairs two at a time, and I figured I was making pretty good time. The only unusual thing was the amount of people on the platform, but I figured Toronto had their first pre-season homegame coming up in the next few days, so it wasnapos;t totally out of the question for the Canucks to have had their first homegame. Granted, I wasnapos;t exactly
looking for Canucks jerseys, yet it didnapos;t occur to me to think much of it.

Sleep deprived and not in the mood for dealing with people, I had my music up pretty loud and mustapos;ve missed the announcement. We stalled and stopped thrice before reaching the Chinatown station, and once again, I didnapos;t think much of it. When we arrived at the station one of the Translink folks poked their heads in and informed everyone that Granville station was closed down completely and weapos;d have to reroute. Iapos;d have to get off the train and wait for one to come out of the tunnel.

I stepped out into a huge crowd. Mostly confused passengers with a few Translink types and a few tight-lipped cops. Naturally, nobodies answering questions behind long faces and eyes that stare a little too long. I know what that means. That means that somethingapos;s gone wrong in the station. My mind goes to the most obvious, gruesome place. Thatapos;s just how my mind works. I figure theyapos;re holding the train up to give Translink and other officials a chance to hose down the tracks.

Eventually, we rolled on through on our way. I was late for work, but that happens so rarely that nobody either noticed nor cared. I have a reputation for being reliable and I aim to keep it that way.

Iapos;m sure thereapos;s a statistic for the amount of people who die every minute in this city. Iapos;m sure thereapos;s a certain sub-statistic for the amount of those that are suicides. These would be the ones we never hear about for the privacy of the individualapos;s family, and maybe because theyapos;re afraid of triggering more. Suicide is contagious. If the mind is in the wrong place the notion of it becomes seductive. The mind rejects it. Pushes against it. Itapos;s an absurd thought and it requires a leap of faith to go from thinking on it to acting on it. The mind needs to be
coaxed into it. Unfortunately, after the mind is sufficiently coaxed, that leap of faith isnapos;t a hard one to make. It even begins to have a twisted sort of logic. Iapos;m talking like I know this from experience, and yeah, I do. I havenapos;t thought about offing myself since I was a teen and Iapos;m glad those times ended. I thought they never would. I was a pretty emo kid, but I internalized it so I wouldnapos;t bother anyone with my problems. That, I suppose you could say, I still do.

Suicide and mortality in general makes me contemplative. When the body is run down by lack of food, sleep deprivation, or what not, I tend to ruminate on Camusapos;s thoughts on life and suicide. Those being in relation to the myth of Sisyphus. It makes a strange sort of sense. How lifeapos;s daily grind sometimes seems like continually pushing a rock uphill forever with no rhyme nor reason to it. Answers to all questions of teleology on the upward climb involve stopping, and stopping means dying. Dying means leaping onto the skytrain station tracks in front of a
passing train. Dying means being hosed in little vacuum packed bodybags and incinerated.

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to die? Does consciousness fade like the dawn? Or do you remain, feeling your body grow cold, lying unable to move, consciousness permanently suspended behind a body that refuses to move until the bacterial agents that surround us every second of your existence eat up the flesh that once housed you?

Man is meat.

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