As much as it pains me to admit it, I was angry with myself and the world, including Sam, in the few months preceding his death.
I was angry at the rut I found myself sitting in, angry at my relentless lows and highs and my inability to control them, angry that I couldn't make ends meet, angry that I'd believed in myself as an artist to the point of impracticality, angry that our band felt like it was going nowhere.
It's been one of my life-long dilemnas. When do I swerve? When do I swerve from my desire to be free to write, play music, and paint, and retreat to the safety of a proper and fufilling day job? When?
Waitressing is one of the vagabond professions that flow easily with a musicians life, but more meaningful work swallows up your time and energy to the point that music is shoved aside and you become a 'weekend warrior, if that.
But how much coffee can you serve and not go mad?
In 2007, I began thinking If I live to be old, my life is more than half over.
All the other piggies have built their brick houses, and this little piggie has none.
No house, no car, no insurance, no savings, no income, no IRA's or investments, no significant other to watch my back.
This little piggie has been singing and playing, and writing little ditties and figured the brick house would eventually appear if I needed it, but maybe that's not how the story goes.
Maybe I'll come home to my house of pipe dreams and be gobbled up by the wolf.
They miss me at Waffle House.
I was quiet, diligent, had almost all my teeth, and made a mean cup of coffee. A little 'tetched in the head,' but not in a bad way.
It's been one of my life-long dilemnas. When do I swerve? When do I swerve from my desire to be free to write, play music, and paint, and retreat to the safety of a proper and fufilling day job? When?
Waitressing is one of the vagabond professions that flow easily with a musicians life, but more meaningful work swallows up your time and energy to the point that music is shoved aside and you become a 'weekend warrior, if that.
But how much coffee can you serve and not go mad?
In 2007, I began thinking If I live to be old, my life is more than half over.
All the other piggies have built their brick houses, and this little piggie has none.
No house, no car, no insurance, no savings, no income, no IRA's or investments, no significant other to watch my back.
This little piggie has been singing and playing, and writing little ditties and figured the brick house would eventually appear if I needed it, but maybe that's not how the story goes.
Maybe I'll come home to my house of pipe dreams and be gobbled up by the wolf.
They miss me at Waffle House.
I was quiet, diligent, had almost all my teeth, and made a mean cup of coffee. A little 'tetched in the head,' but not in a bad way.
I could hardly think straight with Sam about. I would say almost positively sure that he was bipolar, although he thought anti-depressants were for the rest of us.
It hurts me that while the lover, KD, ran from Sam, his friend, KD, deserted him.
What if it had been as simple as insisting he go to the doctor for his wide mood swings?
That is where I feel like I failed him the most.
Depression is an insidious creature and you don't always know you have it.
Everything gets more gray, and more gray and you can't remember when it wasn't grey. Everything is sad and you are slipping down a long dark tunnel, and it seems a natural place to be.
You can't remember sunshine even if you're looking at it. There is buzzing like a pack of bumblebees are sitting like a wig on your head.
You have to be careful what you let in because it will race around and around in your head like tigers that turn to butter.
If you get too many roundy rounds going round all at once, it makes crazy 8's.
I know my 'what if's' are more crazy 8's.
I give them to these pages, and out of my head.
That is where I feel like I failed him the most.
Depression is an insidious creature and you don't always know you have it.
Everything gets more gray, and more gray and you can't remember when it wasn't grey. Everything is sad and you are slipping down a long dark tunnel, and it seems a natural place to be.
You can't remember sunshine even if you're looking at it. There is buzzing like a pack of bumblebees are sitting like a wig on your head.
You have to be careful what you let in because it will race around and around in your head like tigers that turn to butter.
If you get too many roundy rounds going round all at once, it makes crazy 8's.
I know my 'what if's' are more crazy 8's.
I give them to these pages, and out of my head.
Dear Sam
I'll forgive you for shooting yourself if you will forgive me for all the things I woulda coulda shoulda done.
Love,
KD
