tamper if you like between the doors

My friend RR is one of those office comrades that makes it possible for you to get through your work week without burning the building down. He is a partner-in-crime. If you took away all hints of romantic chemistry or tension from Jim & Pam on The Office, you would have something resembling me & RR. He's also the master of the one-liner. For example:

me: What are the clinical signs of diabetes?
TY: Why do you want to know?
me: I got a headache the other day when I ate too much sugar. I think I might be developing diabetes.
RR: I think you might be developing hypochondria.

For the past two days, I have been more shaken up than I would care to admit, just by virtue of having watched The Bridge. It is too much of a visual assault. I have not slept well the past two evenings because the disturbing images of people hurtling themselves off one of the most beautiful bridges in this country were too fresh in my head. Every time I closed my eyes, there they were. The whole film was too geographically close. And so much else about it was too close.

The first night, I finally cajoled myself to sleep by replacing the vision in my head to Keanu Reeves. Yes, you read that right. It is embarassing, but he was the only person I could think of that had absolutely no complexity, no nuance, no trace of anything but serenity. People that are too cheerful are scary; people that have a palpable dark side are too real.

Last night, I received an email from RR. His wife had gone in for an emergency c-section. They had a premature baby boy, and his email perfectly captured how uncertain he was about how the baby was going to fare. Focusing on hope was a better way to end my evening than the previous night. I went to bed with fingers crossed, hoping the baby was going to be okay. I had to fight off all the awful scenarios of bad outcomes, but it was still better to think of a little life fighting for its first breaths than it was to ponder a life that was unnecessarily discarded. And so far, it appears that the baby is going to be okay.

But I, for once, am not comfortable here in the extremes. My head throbs from the thoughts surrounding births and deaths. I want to turn my attention back to the simple act of living each day, each week, each month, each year. I need to make lists and plans. And I will.