Tragedy…

Just got in from a 15-hour day at work with a plan to write a bit about Martha Stewart’s conviction, to rave about Viggo Mortensen’s performance and say a couple of nice things about Hidalgo, to kvetch about Haiti, and to pontificate on Bush v. Kerry. Then I learned that the mystery surrounding the disappearance of monologist Spalding Gray has come to an end. Kinda killed the ambition…

Rest in peace, Mr. Gray. Heaven knows you deserve some peace, and this life of cruelty and injustice seems bereft of it. I’ve long admired your work — hell, I’ve seen you as the male me. We shared similar visions and fears and disappointments and insecurities — even the same odd preoccupation. And yes, I’ve come close to checking out more than once. So I have an idea of what might have sent you to the East River. Life in this godforsaken world is one impossibly agonizing journey. I can’t and won’t say suicide (alleged or otherwise) is the answer, but I can understand all too well why people (allegedly or otherwise) take that horrid route. At the same time, I can’t help but think of those you left behind — your spouse, your kids, the rest of us who continue clutching desperately to fraying threads despite the hell of day-to-day existence…

What’s done is done. Where you’ve gone, there is no coming back. So godspeed, Spalding. I hope things are better where you are.

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