So I get a very static laced call from my Mom. My sister, who’s going to school in New York, came into her dorm tonight, to find a groggy roommate, moaning about something in her bed. When asked, her roommate said she took a bunch of NighQuill tablets. Danielle (my sis) was worried, but Kelly (her roommate) said that she was just really-really tired and wanted to sleep. My sis was not letting any of that slide and told her roommate that she was getting out of bed, NOW, throwing up, and then they were going to walk around for a while (this from the timid little girl I grew up with).

So they did and it was good that they did because soon thereafter, Danielle found a note, from Kelly, to her, telling her this and that about this and that and oh please tell my family why (yadda-yadda…I don’t think anyone has ever written an original suicide letter…it’s all the same self-centered tripe…I’d like to say it offends me as a humanitarian…but it really offends me as a writer).

These details I got from my mom, between bouts of horrid cell phone reception (damn you Sprint). The letter is scary and yet eight NighQuill tablets sounds a lot more like an attention grabber than a finale act – and the more static hissed details I received, the more it sounded like a means of getting the attention of a recently X’ed boyfriend. And of course, my Mom got all of these static screamed details, between disconnected calls with her daughter (infuriation…thy name is Sprint!).

So now sis is stuck in that tough spot – she has gotten very close with Kelly and now has precarious position of deciding what to do. A cry for help? Maybe. But Kelly’s Mom ought to know…but Danielle does not have that phone number…

…and I just got another call from my Mom. It turns out, Danielle (probably as I’ve typed this) has confronted Kelly and convinced her to call her Mom.

Looking back over the post…I realize I haven’t shown a lot of pity for the would-be suicidie. I do have sympathy though…but pity has killed more than one depressed soul. I hope she gets better and that her Mom can help…and I hope Danielle keeps her tap-dance shoes polished, to tick her in the ass.

Angry at the notion of suicide – but damn proud of my little sis (if only Sprint, in its infinite wisdom, would let me talk to her).

To end on a lighter note – I leave you with DARTH TATER…