It’s a queer occurrence: I think I’m getting better.  I’m not as sad as I was.  I’m not happy, either, but at least the sad seems to be abating.  I’m a lot of nothing, and it’s actually much better than I was.  Despite our illustrious history, Apathy is now a friend of mine.

Yesterday was the 19 year anniversary of my brother’s suicide and although that thought ran through my head several times during the day, I never once thought of the act it commemorated.  I remembered the date, I remembered it was significant, but I didn’t once think about the actual suicide, the actual loss; I just recognized the date.  Like Washington’s Birthday: we close the banks but we rarely think of the Man himself.  That’s what September 29th is becoming to me.  I don’t know what this means.

Both Dexter and Breaking Bad have ended.  I was incredibly disappointed with Dexter’s Series Finale, but extremely pleased with Breaking Bad’s, so there’s balance.  With the Dexter Series Finale, they offered a fitting Season Finale but a paltry offering to end the series with; it wasn’t really an ending at all.  Does he just sit in his poorly furnished room and grow his beard out, waiting to be snatched up by government baddies and have Adamantium fused to his skeleton?  That’s what I’m choosing to believe.  Breaking Bad ended so beautifully, so honestly: Walt secures his notoriety and becomes the Heisenberg everyone painted him as, his legacy as grand and genius as he always believed it to be.

There are giant holes in my TV soul now.