so my buddy Ozzy had an ordinary day. a bright day, in fact. his sister took him shopping and got him some new work clothes, which I know he needed; this, knowing Ozzy, would have been appreciated highly. he--like me--hated shopping and any help navigating aisles and talking to clerks would be not only accepted but revered.
he talked to another friend that night--a mutual friend, and nothing was amiss. he yakked about the new clothes and some other minor happenings, and even mentioned some things he wanted to do come the weekend.

then, around 3:30 am that evening, the mutual bud got a call. he didnt hear the phone and didnt get the message until morning. the message was pure suicidal ravings.

right after making that call, Ozzy hung himself in his basement.

no one knows why. he had his health (as far as anyone knows), he had a decent life (finally back to work--a new GF), and he had a lot of friends.

so all I can do is imagine him swinging in his basement and wonder why the fuck he killed himself. makes no sense whatsoever to me...or anyone, for that matter.

if he hadnt been such a good friend, I'd not care. my belief is that suicide is the chickenshit way to solve problems. we all got fucking problems, but sucking a gun barrel or kamikaze diving from a bridge isnt even close to an answer.

I didnt go to the showings or funeral. funerals are something else I dont believe in, and unless I "have" to go [family], I am staying home and honoring the dead in my own way.

RIP Ozzman.