the story of eric

i knew this guy, eric, bipolar. anyway, one night i was over at his house, we were watching movies, late. i ended up passing out on the couch.

early, dawn, i swear five a.m. alarm clock buzzes and he jumps up with a cloud clap of his hands, says: "hot damn" and runs into the bathroom, shower starts.

i figure everyone has rituals when they wake up, an order they do things, what they do, a sort of rythm or habit acheived more over time and by accident than by force or goal. when he came out, spruiced up for the day, running a comb through his hair, i asked him about it, while i pulled my shoes on, half-sober, hungover.

"you know," he said "most night i wonder if i might die. it's strange but i always have this feeling when i lay down, like, what if i don't ever wake up, what will be said at my funeral, who will show, everything plays out in my head, different every night, cause of death chagnes, but always i lay down to sleep and don't wake. so when i do, and realize, i'm still alive, i just get happy for no reason but the fact that i didn't die."

after that, i decided it was a good idea to pay attention to what was worth being excited or down about.

2003-12-16 | 2:24 p.m.
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