Letters I never sent.

Hey Mike, You know, I used to send so many letters. Remember all the pen pals I had when we met in college? Maybe you didn't notice - but I'm pretty sure you knew about a few of them, and there were a couple, like d. who I probably didn't mention much. I was thinking about you this weekend, in a way I hadn't in a long time, or maybe, conciously, ever. Oddly, I was watching a clip of Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran playing acoustically together in London on the weekend. They have been friends for a long time - I'm not an expert on the fandom, but from what I can gleen it seems like they go back a bit. Certainly, they are the same age and seem to both be products of the same giant ass viral bubble that made rockstars about a decade ago. Anyway, watching them play, doing acoustic versions of songs they'd both written, watching them interact - it made me nostalgic for being onstage with you.
I assume, whereever you are now, you may already know that while I think about you often, it isn't always about us as a couple. It is usually, about the intensity of life in general, or places we traveled, or people we knew together. This was different, in a way that I haven't felt in a really long time. My brain was immediately filled with memories of you writing songs in our apartments or rooms. The way you sat, cross-legged, but not lotus; it was a weird thing you did specifically on the floor. Your SG tucked against your tummy, your head bent so it was parallel to the floor - your hair (when it was long enough) flopping in your face (I have one photo from Serbia when your hair had gotten crazy long and you were also smoking and coughing that is burned into my memory, but so many more, like when we were stuck at the garage in the field in France, or in our apartment in DC, or the room in Silver Spring, or jeez - even the bedroom in Eugene!) and you'd strum, then be reaching over to write the notation down with the lyrics. I loved you so much in such specific moments, you literally created a formative way of looking at a partner - for good and for not so good, obviously. What's weird for me is how warm the memory felt, how comforting and the longing I had to just have that feeling again. While it was sort of expanding, I remembered how it felt to sing backing vocals with you, and the occasional times we would be looking at each other onstage (it didn't happen much, you were the focal point and me and whatever drummer didn't have much to offer the crowds) or the occasions when you would tell me it was a good gig. Remember that show in Belguim when the kids sang with us completely out of the blue? Oh, it also happened the other day when a clip of Neil Young doing Keep On Rockin' on SNL in '89 showed up in my feed - goddamn that song was fun to play. You had such a good sense for so long about music and punk rock. It's sad it kind of morphed into a weird paranoia and desperation. You would have been stoked that you got a mention in the LV music rag though after you died. People were really kind on your FB too - until the new whip got into a fistfight with the baby momma. Ah well. Anyway, thanks for being part of my life Mike, I wish I had tried harder to be me, instead of being so fucking scared all the time about how ugly I was.

"So I enjoy every day, every moment and I thank the god of doggies for the chance to see your little face turn white." -French Beagle-owning Insta influencer on the absolute joy one should gain from having an older dog; especially if your dog has gone through health scares, or dangerous situations.

out of the dark caves of time

Am I the only person who looks at old photos (I mean, proper old, like 50 years or more) and tries to imagine what that person in the photo's life was like, or even what they were thinking in that captured moment. I'm not sure if it's because I looked through a lens for so long, or what my weird obsession with people is but I'm always inordinately curious about what people are thinking, why they do what they do. My biggest regret is not having more time to pursue this, but that being said, maybe I'll just fuck off and go back to school. In the meantime, I will just, I guess, continue to ruminate. Literally, and figuratively, as once again, the Spring Crud has infiltrated my lungs and I am coughing, have a ridiculously itchy throat and just wanna go to sleep. Ideally for like 10 years, and just wake up, none the wiser, none the older, just well-rested and ready to do battle. No such luck though. Instead, I am chewing on old personal bullshit.Yep, Daddy Issues. They are a mountain I climb, and then get to a ledge and feel like it's futile at best to continue. At any rate: here I am again. This time, courtesy the TV show in it's final season, Succession.
Now, this show ostensibly has nothing to do with me, or my life experience. It's all about a super-wealthy family who control a media empire.
However, what all the siblings share is a debilitating (in various ways) level of need for their father's approval. That part has always resonated, but the most recent episode, where they kill off the old man really struck me in an odd way that actually took about a day to come to the surface (so to speak).
My father keeled over during his second heart attack while working his post-retirement hobby/job at a classic car lot. I was at the family house (which was the largest in the neighborhood, and looking back, I often wonder if people assumed we had more money than we really did - which was my father's goal, I think: to appear wealthy and successful as quickly and easily as possible) with my mom, it was a Saturday. My younger brother swears he was there as well, and perhaps he was (downstairs maybe?) but I can't for the life of me remember much other than being in the kitchen when my mom answered the phone and my dad's coworker explaining that he had collapsed and they had called the ambulance.
I can't remember either if they told her then that he was dead, but I remember that she got directions to a hospital in Edmonds, and I drove there. I remember (distantly) being confused and panicky, but also, much like the Roy siblings in the show, oddly concerned about what we were really being told.
Being told your dad is dead by a third party is disorienting, to be sure. To travel to the hospital and find him cold on a gurney is a sudden shock that I have never really processed. Watching a somewhat similar scene unfold on TV to some really terrible characters who, much like my own family (though for somewhat different reasons) are wholly unable to physically express emotion or comfort, really hit a damn nerve.
It's just picking at a scab, essentially, and I am nothing if not a mental scab-picker. It's weird when your family just wasn't all that close. We didn't do a lot of things together, as a unit, especially once we moved to Seattle from Southern California.

Leaves are falling.

While it's not as melodramatic as sawing off my own thrumb, or having a brain too big for my skull, over the weekend the gel in my eyeball has lost viscosity, and now it is a veritable snowglobe in my right eyeball. I've always had floaters, but this is something else: it's layered and makes for some horrible headaches given that I spend a major portion of my days typing into the big shiny screen all day, much less trying to read an actual page. Unfortunate. Not as bad as it could be, and apparently, according to the opthamologist "just part of the aging process - though it is a little early for you to be experiencing this much flux" apparently nothing I can fix, or stop doing to make it better. I blame the mainlining of certain powdery drugs for all physical maladies, and this is no different. Addnedum: It turned out, 5 days later, to be a detached retina, and only a quick detour on the way to work to the opthomologist followed by emergency surgery kept sight in my right eye. It's wonky, and having to keep your head parallel to the earth for 72 hours is not as easy as it might sound - and having a weird gas bubble in the eyeball as it refills with fluid is about as distracting as it sounds. It is a hell of a way to get 2 weeks away from work (though one week was me working from home, because I am nothing if not a masochist).

Found it.

You know, sometimes I do ridiculous things when I have spare time on my hands - today, because I have been just bingeing the shit out of De La Soul and when I see video of them, Plug2 always reminds me of Jon Loggins - the whole band does, of course. They just immediately send me back to DC in 1989/90 and being at Common Concerns with Jon doing the security and just generally doing his cool fishboney thing. So I tried a couple searches, but as per usual, like so many of our generation, we are vanished unless we reached legendary status. Anyway, FB brought me to once again read the chats we had been having those last couple years and I found the quote that I keep telling people about that really made me feel genuinely sorry for you, and also crystalized the understanding that there was no way you'd ever come back to where I knew you had once been. Do you remember writing this: If I'm responsible for my own happiness, then I'd rather die. Because what's weird - it's exactly what you did, I guess? I mean, I'm still not super clear about the crazy bitch you had managed to wrangle in that final round, but damnit. It really is the most accurate thing you've never meant to say. You said the inside part out loud, and it is exactly the battle that is the hardest. What even is the point of this?

Leaving breadcrumbs for myself....

Just gonna take a minute and post this missive I posted on my birthday 19 years ago, because the thing I often forget is that as bleak as shit seems (yep, I'm in the weeds again, and this time, being this old, the weeds are more physically intimidating than emotionally, plus I've left myself a few markers, a few breadcrumbs, a few reminders to keep fighting) it can get so much better, and you don't want to miss it, right? I mean the thing of it all seems to be that you just keep playing until the lights go out. Anyway, from the banner year of 2004: chefguy And yesterday? Yesterday made every moment of the last 6 monthes worth it. Not that all those moments have been horrible, but some of them have been pretty bleak, at least emotionally. But yesterday, it came together. I met the Arlie of local cooking...and we had lots in common - from a background in music, to the passion for food. It rocked my world so hard and so fast that i'm going to do what i haven't done since i was in college and approached my TA - i'm gonna seek this guy out, because he's got experience and understanding and talent, and i want that. how, when where, all of it. what an amazing, gratifiying thing to have happen. and even if it doesn't all come together, it was that same intense feeling of interacting with someone who's following their passion, who follows their heart, who's sensitive (which he even mentioned, along with the fact that he was single, not that he's advertising, mind you) and not afraid to put it out there. Yeah, that was good. Also, there's A, who made me a cd of SRV which was a sweet and thoughtful gesture. It's funny, because he makes me feel all mushy inside, like i'm 16 again - which is weird, but in the best weird way there is...anyway. that's a whole other thing, what with schedules, and work and...well you just don't know. But today - today i'm calling that restaraunt, and seeing if i can't get more time to pick ChefGuy's brain. b-day wish comes true! So then, imagine calling the Arlie of local cooking, and asking him if he'd be interested, in just, you know, hanging out and letting you pick his brain about Life, the Universe and Culinary stuff, and he says yes. Yes. BEST BIRTHDAY EVER! Seriously - i was walking way, way up in the air yesterday, as he is someone i can learn from who's been where i am, who's at a place i want to be. who's accepted he's sensitive, driven and yes - weird. He apologized for being a bit out of it ("I don't get out much"), but thanked me for calling. The idea of talking about food and cooking with someone who'd DOING it...man. I can barely contain myself and am trying to keep an even keel (i.e. not blow off A At Work (ooh, let's go with AAW), because friends are good. fun is good. life is....good. School is good, and i'm dying to get into the baking mod - it's going to be a long 2 weeks, this last bit in the classroom with management and budgeting, but all worth it. all of it. also, birthday wishes from Smitty (as always) and Mike (ditto) - funny the people who stay in your world. and the people who you think will be there forever, and vanish. nothing from the ex-smrge, which is to be expected, i suppose...but sad. he can't handle staying friends, which is a shame. i would have liked for it to be like MIke and i, but no. wish he'd just come out and say why. for real. instead of useless smack. but oh well. y'know? gonna go on, gonna make music in the kitchen baby... i wanna be like CG Pardon me while i gush (and yeah, i know the presidential election is near, and i should be railing, and the olympics are now, and it's good fodder for international amusement vs. the US, and i've discovered the crazy beauty of dave frigging matthews ((gawd, i'm old)) and the 'Nats are going on tour, but right now all i got is culinary stuff on the brain, so there you go): Chef Guy called, as promised - later than he'd planned, but it was because they had a late rush, and man, i could feel the adrenaline over the phone and it took my breath away - he even mentioned how amazing it was that he didn't forget, as usually when he gets going like that, it all falls away. That's a good thing, right? Yeah, I think so. Best part II: when he said that he'd cleared all of Monday for me - woohoo! and that right at that moment, he'd say yes to anything i'd ask (so i asked for a job, he chuckled, which is good - want to make sure that he knows i'm task-oriented, y'know? :)...man, subtle? riiiight. and did he need to bring anything other than himself? oh, HELL no. so we're meeting monday for coffee - tragically, it looked like it would be an all-evening affair (what with him clearing the day for me, and me wanting to spend as many minutes as possible basking in his presence), but then i remembered (thanks to K&K) that i have the ACF meeting, my first, at 6pm that night, and if i don't show, it wouldn't go well for me. Plus, CG totally understood ("You gotta do that, I did") so it'll be abbreviated (the meetup), but with luck it will go well enough that he'll want to meet up again. Yeah. Of course, my wheels are turning, and that's probably nuts, but what the hell, yeah? I feel like i'm meeting up with...well, yeah, someone who plays in a band i totally dig. Like the KevSecs(nee Arlie) of food. Or something. But that's the only way I can describe it at this point - and hell, i've never even heard his music (uh, eaten his food) but you can feel the passion in him (from him?) agh. ok, now i'm drooling. gonna let it go. but man, this sort of inspiration is just what i needed. also, therapist read me the riot act about "shoulds". You'd think, at this point, i'd let the shoulds go, but it's still hard for me to quell the critical guilt-driven voice that has held court in my squirrelly brain for so long. Anyway, i'm glad i'm working sunday, or the day would never pass. also, more fun with AAW, though last night he seemed quite upset that i hadn't clued him in to my birthday, and yet...no call. so i dunno where the hell that's at, but y'know, we'll see. school on monday is gonna FLY by, i'm sure. i hope. maybe CG would go to the ACF meeting...riiiight. he was great about that over the phone too - "it's...ok." heh. dig. dig. dig him.

Post-Doc/pre-birthday bullshit.

Documentary, that is. Post viewing "Don't Break Down" which is probably the second most watchable movie about a band I've ever seen, after "YHF" with Wilco. It made me feel again, which I have been having a really hard time doing lately. Everything seems like it's coming to an end - and watching those guys doing that thing I have such a sappy attachment to made me feel human for a few minutes. It reminded me how good that music used to make me feel. Because I seriously do not feel that way much anymore. Don't misunderstand, I love my puggle, and she brings me joy everyday, and our trips to the park and our adventures around the city are fantastic, lovely even. But. There's nothing creative about it. I'm so bored. (that part was writen 3 years ago) Bored with work, bored with family, bored with most friends, to be honest. Just cannot for the life of me pull my head out from under this water. Not sure if it is because I've spent most of the last year knee-deep in 1D and HS nonsense and trying to convince myself it's some sort of anthropological cultural examination in reali time when what it really is is living in a delusional state where literally even my body is shutting down. Honestly do not know what could possibly pull me out of this nosedive at this point. Eveyone is dying, life is all struggle, and even fun seems performative at best. I jsut want to sit on the porch of a tiny cabin (nee, shack) stare at the trees, mountains, dirt road, whatever and just not do anything but observe nature and grow vegetables. I'm fucking sick to death of this bullshit rat race and ready to go full Walt Whitman. That's the plan I guess, die in the woods alone and hope my dog finds her way to civilization without me.

older, wiser, but what does it matter when the world is imploding around me?

Seattle had a mass shooting downtown last night a half an hour after I left 3rd & pine. Literally exactly where I was. Luckily, my compulsive desire to get home to my dog saved me from potential bullet holes. whee. The tide has not just turned but has washed a ton of shells away too. President is still not removed. Impeached means nothing. Who cares if you have an asterisk next to your name. The bastard and his thugs are still continually tearing apart what little democracy exists, so who cares what history will say? Small comfort for those of us who are living through this fucking class war. Not sure if I'm gonna make rent this month, again. At work was my first full day of being a union shop steward and it was ok. By turns entertaining and irritating, but I definitely can cultivate some of the hellos I've been delivering since day one. Maybe. The new pastry exec, Sara, appears to be like me without the narcissist tendencies, so that's awesome. She's also maybe 45? So that's also helpful. My entire physical being is a mess of pain though, and sleep has become problematic. Except for when I take a Benedryl, which allows me to double my sleep state to a whopping 4 hours, and only wake up with a mild headache. I suspect that my sleep apnea is slowly killing me every night. With any luck instead of Dad-style heart attack, I will just suffocate in bed one night. However - I had a rare dream last night that wrapped up (don't ever remember how these things start) with KC and I having a super long walk along a fremont/ballard -ish canal needing to meet up with Karen and some other people. We were running late and saw a boat with a woman who was showing kids along the canal via the boat and when I walked by and just jumped in, they were so stoked with the dog (so typical) that we were allowed to stay in the boat. When the boatride ended we jumped out and met up with Karen and some other peeps, and began to walk in a Frelard sort of quasi-light industrial area (shades of doorknocking, to be honest) and then KC became a goat (and not by magic, she was just suddenly a goat, but still somehow KC? Too much Milk Barn Farm Insta ((and cbd)) before bed) who had eaten something bad from the side of the road (which I am constantly telling her not to do IRL) and she started puking and swelling up, so I looked around to find her water, and there was a porch of a hippy house that had pots and a faucet, so I jumped up on the porch grabbing a pot to get KC the goat water, while the others stood by and watched. A dude came from out of the house (hot, but not specifically - just a hirsute manly Jason Mamoa sort of guy; and there was a woman still in the house too, maybe? He said it was ok, put his hands on my shoulders and told me to relax and then got behind me so my head was cradled in his crouching lap and he gave me this bong (oh shit, a chillum?) to smoke - saying I needed to come in and relax after we get the goat out of trouble(I kept telling him she was my goat). He put some sort of scarf over my head, but I could hear Karen & the others getting worried, and one of the guys with her leaned in my ear and said "You don't have to do this" and then I realized (decided?) I didn't want to get that high, and told the guy no thanks. I hugged my goat, started to stand up from the guy's lap (which was warm, and supporting) and then I woke up. My subconscious is NOT SUBTLE. Momma needs to get fucking laid. But momma has no desire to get involved with anyone. Ah well. Also, Karen and Ken are going to Cracked Pepper's debut brunch and I am very jealous.