life is really a series of moments, isn't it? particular memories stand out in your mind, melding themselves into the lining of your brain until you're incapable of forgetting them, and while there are those that i fervently wish to remain, there are others i might not mind losing.

one week ago at this moment, i was completely ignorant of the fact that joey had already ended his life. in the past week, he has, of course, dominated my thoughts. and i'm infinitely grateful for the memories i have of him that managed to remain intact. i remember the last time i saw him, the last time i spoke to him. and i've thought constantly in the past week about how tired he must have been, how tired i know he was and amazingly, with those thoughts, it wasn't until today that another memory popped into my head ...

last february, my mother made quite the production of attempting suicide and after the initial 'scare' i remember the primary feeling with which i was left was one of complete disgust. her attempt was quite theatrical and brought about by seemingly trivial things that other people might have just dealt with head on, but my mother deals with so little. and yet, i remember her saying, in all of her crying splendor that she was just "so tired, so tired" and i might have argued with her on that point. i might have reflected verbally on her life and argued with her about just how exhausted one should be before suicide is justifiable or even comprehendable and whether she had really reached that mark just yet. i could have argued with her and i could have won. but quite frankly, i had no desire whatsoever to expel the energy to do the former, and she would never have acknowledged the latter. and now, when i think about how tired joey was, i find myself disgusted with her once more.

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