Define Morbid

As I passed through downtown today on my trek to work, I found myself thinking about suicide. It's not that I've never thought of it before (the subject fascinates me deeply; the idea of committing it: kind of a shady prospect-- we'll see) but I was pondering possible outcomes of the act in that very moment. This was because I was taking the path alongside the Elm St. side of the One Main Place, a building that has had more than two or three jumpers in the last decade. Admittedly, I laughed when I caught myself staring skyward, looking to the top of the building, checking for possible jumpers or failing that, falling bodies. Not that I'm afraid of death; in fact, if you catch me in one of my more sober, lucid states, you might hear me say that I would rather not see it coming. Maybe.

There is quite a bit of distance between the street and the entrance to the building, so I thought that if I were paranoid to the point of taking precautions against sudden death by falling suicidal objects, I'd probably take great pains to maintain a safe distance between myself and the building. The foundation of the building-- at least what's visible to me at ground level near the entrance-- is set on an inversion. That means that there is an incline or decline, depending on whether one is coming or going in relation to the structure itself. The inversion is like a small courtyard: trees, benches, lots of concrete, and depending on the hour, you might catch a gaggle of smokers huddled between the columns in front of the entrance.

A thought came to my mind that perhaps I should move to the other side of the street if I'm going to think these sorts of thoughts. But doing that would mean standing and waiting through two extra lights. It's counterproductive. What's worse is that I was forced down into the inversion at the base of the building by the concrete barrier where the sidewalk ends and the underground parking garage exit begins, passing by smokers along the entrance. I looked up every few steps, laughing.