My brother told me yesterday that he hates the hospital I was born in. I told him that everyone hates hospitals, but he told me that for him it is just the one. He added that he is actually quite fond of the hospital where his children were born. I have no children, so there are no hospitals that I like. Like my brother, though, I hate the hospital that my brother was born in. It is the same hospital in both cases.

Time moves very fast and very slow in hospitals. Time spent in the hospital waiting for news is like a room with walls too far apart to be seen, only to have them rapidly close to a immeasurably small space as news is received and time compresses to the point of an entire lifetime being visible in a single moment. It takes hours, months, years to stretch time back out to where it was before. Sometimes it takes longer than the remainder of a lifetime.

Life is hard, for sure, and death may be peaceful, but I think dying just might be a bit of a motherfucker...

It is a Pearl Jam song. I heard it for the second or third time as I walked around inside a department store that neither my brother nor myself hate. It is therapeutic, walking through department stores, because everything is new so there isn't stuff to remind you of things that make you sad. But the music is sad sometimes. Sadness moves sneakers and purses, suit coats and pumps. Transactions help slow or speed the passage of time, whichever the situation may require.

I heard a line that isn't there, while walking around the store. It was something about taking all of your love and locking it in a box. The idea moved me, resonated with my notions of fear and risk and reward. If they ever decide to change the lyrics, I suggest they add that line, but as it stands, it isn't too shabby of a song.