Waiting for the Train
(cont'nd)
You tell her there's no reason, but nine times out of ten it's because you're reflecting on the irrepressible feeling that the quality of the act was miniscule in comparison to the ardent desire you had to perform it. Last night, however, you didn't wait for the post-coital collapse. You started thinking about it right as she started to trace kisses and licks down your belly. Then you couldn't stop fixating on it and the rest of the encounter was even more detached and routine than usual.
Therein lies the problem. Because you have a girlfriend who loves you and whom you love. The sex may not be spectacular, but you've been together six years, so the fact that you're still having sex at all is a miracle. You have great friends, wonderful and supportive parents, and, by all standards of measurement, a fantastic job. Judged solely against the hopes and fears of everyone else, you have a fantastic life. When you and your girlfriend went to Europe last summer, everyone told you how jealous they were, how fantastic that must be.
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When you splashed your savings on that sixty-inch TV your buddies just had to come around right away, merely to see the thing hanging on your wall.
You are waiting for the train.
Of course, if this is a quiet exit rather than a grand entrance, why are you leaping in front of a speeding subway train, not sitting at home with a family-size bottle of Tylenol? Why not, instead, make the most of this sudden release of suburban expectation by scoring some smack and going out on the ultimate high? Why take your own life in such a way that will generate a newspaper headline (albeit one that will focus on the commuter disruption rather than the human tragedy)?
You can answer these questions well because you've spent a long time thinking about them. The most concise answer you've been able to come up with is: "immediacy". Every other solution you've considered has involved a two-prong approach: buy the pills, swallow the pills; or, buy the smack, shoot up the smack.
Follow the words...
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