I'm rereading a fantastic book from my adolescent years and I find I can't put it down. It's an amazing thing to have a book that affected you as a child still be as fun and insightful to read as an adult. For those interested it's the Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind and I highly recommend them to anyone seeking a fun, fantasy filled adventure. My point, however, is that as I am reading it the female protagonist cries about every one hundred pages or so, sometimes less--I just read a line where she lamented how much she cries saying she rarely cried all her life, but seems to cry constantly in the continuum of the story. I cut her some slack; she's tromping through the wild fighting to save the world. I figure that's a trying situation for the best of us.

But this got me thinking about how much crying I've seen in Las Vegas. Not so much from me, I cry about as much (or as little) as I ever have, but it seems that every month, or week, or day, my phone rings and the person on the other end is in tears. This hasn't been a constant occurrence in my life since late high school, early college. The one shining point is that I haven't caused the tears, but I'm constantly surprised that I am the one people call when shedding said tears. I'm not a nurturer. I'm a fixer. I only want tears when they are attached to a situation I can fix.

But this has me thinking about the nature of the city I live in and the people I know. I've gotten meaner since I moved here, both in thought and deed. I've tried to avoid it when I am aware of it, but I find my patience with people is much less than it used to be, and my expressions of my annoyance are much sharper and sometimes cattier. There's no need to make fun of what someone looks like just because their comments consistently irritate the crap out of me in class, but I am constantly gravitating that way. I shouldn't scream at the phone when I see people calling, but I fear what's waiting for me on the other side if I pick up.

Is it the city? Is it the school? Is it the people? I know amazing people here. I've met some of the best writers I've ever read, and had amazing conversations about all metaphysical topics graduate students love to discuss. I've had nights that were so much fun I didn't want them to end and nights that were so much fun it seemed the hangover never would end. The craziness doesn't seem to affect everyone by any means, but the extremes are significantly more varied than anywhere else I have lived in my life. It's almost as if everyone in this town lives at a pole--good or bad, sane or crazy. I'm still not sure where I am--if the screen runs with tears as I complain that no one loves me we'll have our answer.

I've joked that Las Vegas is the eight rings of Dante's hell; maybe it's living in a climate that wasn't made to support our life comfortably. Everything out here wants to kill you--the weather, the animals, the people--so perhaps it creates an environment that brings out the crazy in all of us. It could be an economy that's based solely on vice; Las Vegas is sort of like the final years of Rome recreated in the desert. I don't know myself, it's a quandary that still baffles understanding.

The obvious answer is that I simply shouldn't answer my phone, but I begin to feel that my journey into meanness would be complete if I did that. On the other hand, my own crazy is being exacerbated by the surrounding crazy crying at me every other day. So the philosophical question of the day is: is it more humane to be a friend even when those needing your friendship drive you crazy with their own instability or should you cut them off and not answer the phone? Of course if I don't answer the phone a voicemail will be left and at some point a call back made. Unless I can get around it with text messaging. God Bless text messages.

So that's where life stands in the city of sin. Overall it's pretty darn fun, and I'll probably never regret my time here, certainly there are friends I'm constantly grateful I've had the chance to know. But, I wonder what little mental gems I'll be taking with me when I leave in a year or two--will I come out with my soul intact, or calling all of you, crazy and inconsolable?

Only time will tell...duh duh duhn...(dramatic music)