Thursday, September 2, 2010

Shit pittance

Wednesday.

This is usually the night we go to karaoke together. Being there without him was almost unbearable. I mean, I was really ok. Speaking to our usual bar-staff friends. Then the karaoke dj Mikey took me in his arms and said "it'll be ok" and fucking a. That's when the tears brimmed my eyes. I stopped them. I wouldn't let them. I have given into god damn tears too many times since Sunday.

Surprisingly, about ten of my friends came out. I suppose they were showing a front for me, supporting me and I really, really am thankful. I sometimes forget I have touched people ever. I mean that. Like, I have NO idea the impact I've had on people or the world. The 250 + friends on facebook are some accomplishment I suppose- But it doesn't register. I wish sometimes I'd touch people - My music. That it would register, but it never occurs to me that my stupid shit kindness has ever meant shit pittance to anybody.

I wonder if the people that have passed in my own life realize the importance they've had not only to me, but others. I wonder if they think "christ, maybe that one person I met once will be even a little sad I'm gone." I know, fucking sad thing to say, but I do wonder it. I read today passing through Everett on one of the signs that one of the regulars at my old bar 'O' Finnigans' had passed. I knew her. Barely really. But I passed and I was sad for a moment. Would she remember me? Remember my name?

Went to the doctor today. Was in a state getting up, had a real hard time. Yes, the insomniac is clinging to the bed like some sort of mother figure. The doctor took mercy as I wished and perscribed me my blessed apricot relief. Oh fuck me. I'm putting off sweet relief right now to right this stupid entry which I'm writing on a whim, and may delete on a similar whim later. I can taste the bitterness. I hate it. I crave it. No, I know better. I'm not addicted. But I know I can't share. And in this small orange bottle lays some lover I've romanced before, and accepted. And denied. To feel that peace is something I wonder if I deserve.

Johnny said we could speak if he wasn't drinking. I dropped it after he said so. I assumed the wine was more important. I do not blame him. What I want to ask; say is more than I likely could in a simple phonecall. And in his position I would do the same. What I have to say to him is a mystery to his ears. How does he know an apology lays on my lips? Truth? Hope? Agony?

I can not let go. My head, my eyes, and my heart ache. I have practice tomorrow for my band and I know we'll be playing his song. I'm wondering how to get through. The best option I can muster is to smaile big and think of puppies. And yes, I'm a fucking idiot because I know anywhere I look I'll see him. And then I wonder how ANY professional performer gets paid when they go through a personal crisis. Then I remember I'm getting paid no matter what. Romanticide was a stupid idea. I cursed myself. Why write something based on the past bad shit?
Oh yeah. Cuz that's what I do.

Ok to those of you who can't understand, who don't read this. This is my memory. Today's gone. I'm reaching to my only solace. Short ending. Fuck it. Be happy. Love hard. Life is short.

Peace.

Write soon.

2 comments:

  1. I'd be sad if something happened to you, and I have never even met you face to face. I'd freak out and cry.

    Just so you know.

    Hang in there. You are loved.

    ReplyDelete
  2. :( Hope you are ok. Reach out. we live in the same city. Let's become friends.

    ReplyDelete