It's been a couple months now since I lost Finesse. Seven months since Style. I find myself just going through the motions. I work, get home, dawdle, sleep, wake, dawdle, sleep, repeat. Even though I have what many would presume to be a happy life, as well as a nice home and a lovely wife, I find that I am stagnating. I have given up on music. I no longer play any musical instrument. It doesn't being my joy anymore. I have a closet full of guitars that I am preparing to sell off. I just don't have the time or motivation anymore to do a band thing. I've turned down a few gigs so far this year and do not anticipate ever returning to any level of competence on any instrument I have ever previously mastered. It's not something I even want to do.
When Style and Finesse were here I had so much to look forward to. They were the very solidifying markers of my existence and also represented a very happy point in my life. Now that they are gone, I feel empty and worthless. Even more worthless than I have felt at any time in the past. I exist to work like a dog to earn money to pay bills which never end. A vicious cycle of life but not life. Is there anything that brings me happiness anymore? Some of the people in my life, close family, my wife, I guess.
What do intend to do? I intend to keep going until I can't. I have had plenty of instances where I've made a split-second life or death decision, always choosing life. Instinct over intent? Or instinct as unconscious intent? I'm still here. But why am I here, Really?
Showing posts with label cannonball. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cannonball. Show all posts
Sunday, November 10, 2019
Saturday, June 1, 2019
Getting Closer
Well, I’m down to one kitty. I’m still getting over the loss of Style. Fitness, the cat, has her own set of ailments. She has what appears to be a cancerous kind of tumor on her lower jaw. It appears to be irritating. I took her to the vet. And the doctor said that it would be best not to do surgery on a cat her age. Instead, palliative care will be the course. The doctor prescribed Buprenorphine, which is a pain reliever. I squirt a very small amount into Finesse’s mouth, and it’s absorbed instantly through the membranes and cheeks.
This is just a fix. For how long, who knows? I love her; she purrs, makes me smile. It's been a long time. I treasure every day she's here. And I made a pact with myself that I would not stick around once I have no one to take care of.
As far as getting things together for Pam... I need to make a will and secure some mortgage insurance so that when something happens to me, she'll be taken care of. I like to stare out at the ocean from the 8th floor at work. On a clear day you can see the boats on the ocean. There's a balcony right outside the window which is kept locked. I've only seen the maintenance workers go out there to take care of the plants. The vantage is excellent. Great views. See, there's still stuff that I like, that is timeless, that brings some comfort. A kid was screaming at the restaurant today. I wanted to go over there and smack the hell out of it. Wouldn't it be a different world if this kind of thing were acceptable? Parents might think twice before inflicting their brats on others. All it would take would be one well placed smack, the kid would be unconscious, and all would be silent except for the applause.
This is just a fix. For how long, who knows? I love her; she purrs, makes me smile. It's been a long time. I treasure every day she's here. And I made a pact with myself that I would not stick around once I have no one to take care of.
As far as getting things together for Pam... I need to make a will and secure some mortgage insurance so that when something happens to me, she'll be taken care of. I like to stare out at the ocean from the 8th floor at work. On a clear day you can see the boats on the ocean. There's a balcony right outside the window which is kept locked. I've only seen the maintenance workers go out there to take care of the plants. The vantage is excellent. Great views. See, there's still stuff that I like, that is timeless, that brings some comfort. A kid was screaming at the restaurant today. I wanted to go over there and smack the hell out of it. Wouldn't it be a different world if this kind of thing were acceptable? Parents might think twice before inflicting their brats on others. All it would take would be one well placed smack, the kid would be unconscious, and all would be silent except for the applause.
Wednesday, July 11, 2018
Losing It
I find I lose my patience a lot more easily than I used to. Which is not saying too much because I have always been impatient. I have a low tolerance for stupidity and ignorance. I have zero tolerance for stubbornness. And I have difficulty dealing with people and friends who are ignorant to the truth. A recent incident involved a missed band rehearsal by the lead singer, who made up a dumb excuse and projected his own arrogance on the rest of the band. At the last minute, while he was lounging poolside, he decided to change up the rehearsal location to one that was more convenient to him, mainly his house. His argument was simple: come rehearse at my house today or I'm not rehearsing today. So he instigated a shitstorm of text messages and ultimately totally blew us off.
It is fortunate that this rehearsal is for what will be our final gig, one which I never wanted to participate in, but am stuck because, like a fool, I committed to it.
I should mention that this band member was also the best man at my wedding. We've come a long way in just a few years from being close friends to being casual associates who no longer speak to each other. I said some rather nasty things to him in textmessage-land. Some of which were merely pointing out reality, others which were downright mean. I really need to stop that. But all the same, this is a person who more often these days refuses to acquiesce to reason. People like this no longer have a place in my life. I have decided to move on.
It is true that our kids take after us. Kids pick up on pretty much everything we do, even if we think we're keeping it secret from them. They take promises seriously and however we handle ourselves when we keep or break our promises has a tremendous lasting effect on their psyches. For example, smoking. When you promise your kid that you're going to quit smoking, you'd better keep the promise. When you want your kid to grow up drug-free, then you'd better not be sneaking around behind your kid's back smoking pot, or worse. These are classical betrayals of the parent-child bond, the parent-child trust. And when someone points out to you that you have done just that, and that your kid is now a reflection of yourself, you should say, "Thank you."
This is just my side of the story, which is the only side that matters in this blog. I am losing it when it comes to dealing with people who claim to be my friends. I am moving exponentially towards an asocial existence. I abhor people anymore. I have my wife, whom I love, and who supports me 100%. She agrees that the kid is a reflection of his father's failures and is the only one who has expressed gratitude at my stating that fact directly to the father in this story. I have reduced my "friend baggage" by three in the process. And after next weekend, it will be reduced by two more. The only band member that I care to associate with anymore is the bass player who resigned 8 years ago to start a family. He's the only one I can see myself working on music with. To the other guys I offer a closing salutation and best wishes in the future.
It is fortunate that this rehearsal is for what will be our final gig, one which I never wanted to participate in, but am stuck because, like a fool, I committed to it.
I should mention that this band member was also the best man at my wedding. We've come a long way in just a few years from being close friends to being casual associates who no longer speak to each other. I said some rather nasty things to him in textmessage-land. Some of which were merely pointing out reality, others which were downright mean. I really need to stop that. But all the same, this is a person who more often these days refuses to acquiesce to reason. People like this no longer have a place in my life. I have decided to move on.
It is true that our kids take after us. Kids pick up on pretty much everything we do, even if we think we're keeping it secret from them. They take promises seriously and however we handle ourselves when we keep or break our promises has a tremendous lasting effect on their psyches. For example, smoking. When you promise your kid that you're going to quit smoking, you'd better keep the promise. When you want your kid to grow up drug-free, then you'd better not be sneaking around behind your kid's back smoking pot, or worse. These are classical betrayals of the parent-child bond, the parent-child trust. And when someone points out to you that you have done just that, and that your kid is now a reflection of yourself, you should say, "Thank you."
This is just my side of the story, which is the only side that matters in this blog. I am losing it when it comes to dealing with people who claim to be my friends. I am moving exponentially towards an asocial existence. I abhor people anymore. I have my wife, whom I love, and who supports me 100%. She agrees that the kid is a reflection of his father's failures and is the only one who has expressed gratitude at my stating that fact directly to the father in this story. I have reduced my "friend baggage" by three in the process. And after next weekend, it will be reduced by two more. The only band member that I care to associate with anymore is the bass player who resigned 8 years ago to start a family. He's the only one I can see myself working on music with. To the other guys I offer a closing salutation and best wishes in the future.
Saturday, May 19, 2018
It's Happening Again
I hate myself and I want to die. I hate my life. I am worthless, stupid, and unworthy of any kind of respect. I am treated like garbage. I am garbage. This is how I feel. There is nothing good. All is shit. Fuck everything.
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
My Death
I am going to kill myself. Easy to say. Hard to do. But I expect that sometime soon I will get up the courage and the strength to do it. I am done here. I get zero respect. I don't want any fucking help. If you think this is selfish, then fuck you. Fuck all the whole lot of you.
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
The Gift Of Music (Part 1)
I have been playing music for nigh on 47 years now. My family has always had some music playing, whether it be classical, flamenco, show tunes, movie soundtracks, pop, jazz, I was exposed to all kinds of music from birth. And we always had an upright piano in the house which was played often. My musical activity, actually playing something, all started with my sitting next to the piano and listening, gradually being shown a few notes here and there. It was around Christmastime in 1969. Our first Christmas in our new house in Larchmont, New York. The song was Winter Wonderland. For real, I remember this. I remember who was playing and who had me on their lap to try to show me the basic melody. Every so often I would try to bang something out. But it was just banging.
When I was in the first grade at Murray Avenue School in Larchmont, New York, my class was introduced to the recorder (a flutelike instrument.) We were all given basic lessons over a few weeks and learned a few songs. We gave a performance as part of the school's Christmas programme.
Off and on, I would sit at the piano and try to read the strange black dots on the page. I even tried to teach myself to read music. But I had it all wrong. I knew the little black dots represented notes, but I interpreted them wrong. My parents saw my frustration and gave me some guidance. They tried to show me where on the piano those notes actually were. I remember them showing me where "middle C" was. Periodically I would come back to the piano, bang away, try to remember what the little black dots meant, and skulk away in frustration.
I was eight years old when I first picked up the guitar in July of 1973. I remember because my family was making the big move from New York to California. While they were loading all our stuff into the family Volvo, I sat with my younger brother upstairs and tried to play the guitar. I had seen a picture in the Guinness Book Of World Records, which I enjoyed looking through. It was a picture of The Beatles on stage. It really stuck in my head. They were playing guitars on a huge stage in England. As for me, I knew next to nothing about how to hold a guitar, where to put my fingers, what a chord was; I just happily strummed the open strings and sang whatever I wanted. I could be like the Beatles in that picture. I think I was singing songs from The Wizard Of Oz. Of course all it sounded like was some 8 year old kid banging on the guitar.
We had hired a moving company to carry the larger furniture and stuff, but my parents had miscalculated on the rest of the stuff. The car was overloaded; the body was grinding against the wheels and would hardly move. So we needed to rent a U-Haul trailer to ease the weight from the car. It was already late at night. That meant staying at least one more night in New York at a friend's house, the Ripley's, before starting the long trek to California. We had two guitars in New York. But by the time we got to California, there was only one. ...to be continued
When I was in the first grade at Murray Avenue School in Larchmont, New York, my class was introduced to the recorder (a flutelike instrument.) We were all given basic lessons over a few weeks and learned a few songs. We gave a performance as part of the school's Christmas programme.
Off and on, I would sit at the piano and try to read the strange black dots on the page. I even tried to teach myself to read music. But I had it all wrong. I knew the little black dots represented notes, but I interpreted them wrong. My parents saw my frustration and gave me some guidance. They tried to show me where on the piano those notes actually were. I remember them showing me where "middle C" was. Periodically I would come back to the piano, bang away, try to remember what the little black dots meant, and skulk away in frustration.
I was eight years old when I first picked up the guitar in July of 1973. I remember because my family was making the big move from New York to California. While they were loading all our stuff into the family Volvo, I sat with my younger brother upstairs and tried to play the guitar. I had seen a picture in the Guinness Book Of World Records, which I enjoyed looking through. It was a picture of The Beatles on stage. It really stuck in my head. They were playing guitars on a huge stage in England. As for me, I knew next to nothing about how to hold a guitar, where to put my fingers, what a chord was; I just happily strummed the open strings and sang whatever I wanted. I could be like the Beatles in that picture. I think I was singing songs from The Wizard Of Oz. Of course all it sounded like was some 8 year old kid banging on the guitar.
We had hired a moving company to carry the larger furniture and stuff, but my parents had miscalculated on the rest of the stuff. The car was overloaded; the body was grinding against the wheels and would hardly move. So we needed to rent a U-Haul trailer to ease the weight from the car. It was already late at night. That meant staying at least one more night in New York at a friend's house, the Ripley's, before starting the long trek to California. We had two guitars in New York. But by the time we got to California, there was only one. ...to be continued
Monday, January 1, 2018
Facebook Deactivated
As of today, January 1, 2018, I have deactivated my FB account. I've had enough. I've wasted too much time on this whole social media thing. So much that I believe social media is more like anti-social media. Many is the time that I have put things off so that I can respond to or create some inane FB post. I'm not sure how long I can hold out. But the first step towards breaking the cycle is to deactivate the account.
The Foxy Lady page is still up. However, if I want to do anything on that page, I'll need to reactivate my own FB account. Since Foxy Lady is dormant, this shouldn't be a issue.
In my own life, I am in a state of happiness with my wife, Premmanee. The exact circumstances of our marriage are complex, and I had to make a really harsh and tough decision with regards to who could attend the ceremony. I am thankful that my father and brother have been supportive and have welcomed Premmanee into their lives. Whatever reservations they may have, they put their love for me first; they accept us as a couple. Same goes for my first cousin, David, my only maternal family member who has accepted Premmanee.
The house in Woodland Hills which Premmanee and I bought has become a dream home to us. It is just a short distance from the house I grew up in. I can see retiring here and my body eventually being found somewhere in the house many years from now when I stop breathing.
The Foxy Lady page is still up. However, if I want to do anything on that page, I'll need to reactivate my own FB account. Since Foxy Lady is dormant, this shouldn't be a issue.
In my own life, I am in a state of happiness with my wife, Premmanee. The exact circumstances of our marriage are complex, and I had to make a really harsh and tough decision with regards to who could attend the ceremony. I am thankful that my father and brother have been supportive and have welcomed Premmanee into their lives. Whatever reservations they may have, they put their love for me first; they accept us as a couple. Same goes for my first cousin, David, my only maternal family member who has accepted Premmanee.
The house in Woodland Hills which Premmanee and I bought has become a dream home to us. It is just a short distance from the house I grew up in. I can see retiring here and my body eventually being found somewhere in the house many years from now when I stop breathing.
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