It's embarrassing how little I know regarding MLC, which stands for "Models: Life Contingencies." It's what the third actuarial exam covers. The exam is in eight days and I'm so unprepared. This is terrible. I'm going over the big list of problems offered on the SOA's website, and it's as if I haven't studied at all, when in fact, I've studied for 150 hours or so.
When I studied for the last exam on Financial Math, I was more consistent with my daily studying. It was supposedly easier material. I had a good textbook to use. It's all bad for me with MLC. The book was impossible to read and about 1000 pages anyway, so I went with an on-line seminar, where the instructor often doesn't bother to explain things beforehand and makes lots of mistakes, a sign that he's only reading off a script and writing the stuff down.
Once again, I have no actual live person to help me. I'm competing against kids who took classes specifically designed to help them pass this test.
I spent 300 bucks just to take this train wreck next week, along with 100 for the bullshit book and 400 for the on-line seminar. At least the on-line seminar will be offered free to me for another try, once I fail this one. And fail I will. In order to pass, I'll need to get 20 out of 20 questions correct. Right now, I'll probably get five right, and since there are five choices for each problem, a monkey could do as well.
Now I'll have to decide if I should tell prospective employers that I'll be taking the MLC a second time since I failed it the first time.
Life is not very comfortable right now. At least I'll see my therapist tomorrow. If only it wasn't cutting into valuable study time.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Stories of love
... that is, of a perfect love, are not really that interesting to tell, and definitely not interesting for others to hear. But they're wonderful to experience.
What about other stories? In my twenties, I filled several journals (diaries for men) with my difficulties in finding a love, starting at the point where my college relationship was beginning to crumble. The first entry name-checks her, then goes right into my short-lived fascination with a spectacled brunette named Karri who wrote for a rival newspaper in the area and had no interest in me. There's proof of a love going wrong for you.
But I did love the girl from college, and I was very scared of facing the real world without her being involved in some way. Over the course of that first year after graduation, we stayed together (albeit 300 miles apart) for six months, had a "you better go home" fight that started during sex, didn't speak for a week, had a reconcilement over the phone, went through several months of tip-toeing on my part and wooing another on hers, and broke up at the end of the summer, when she promptly started dating and living with my senior year roommate. Seeing her sit on his lap at a New Year's party gave me such a pain, but I got over her just in time to spend one last St. Patrick's night together, which undid the getting over her for several more years. Sure, I dated others during that time, but I had a very hard time giving up hope of a permanent reunion.
Of course, it didn't happen. Last I read, Pam married the guy she was dating at the time of St. Patrick's Day, 1995, and shares a dental office with him. She hyphenated her name, which looks tacky on so many levels. No clue if they have children, but I suspect they do, like nearly every other couple my age does. I stay away from the alumni mags, mostly because I want to stay away from her in every way possible.
After our St. Patrick's fling, where she said nice things about the guy (named Jud, I believe), she also reminisced about how great we were as a couple, how our love was something she thought "few people could ever hope to experience," how great it would be if we grew old together, and how she'd be available when school was done in a little over two years. She got over those feelings - that night was the last time I ever saw her - and by the time I met Margie four-and-a-half years later, I was fine with the change of heart. But it took a lot longer for me to close the door on her than it should've taken.
After that last night together, she stayed down in Alton and I stayed in Batavia, writing her several times to keep me in her heart, and when I called to ask why she hadn't been writing back, she mentioned that she hadn't gotten any letters and that Jud had been picking up the mail. I responded with a certified letter and a promise to write every week, and after half-a-dozen letters that never merited a response, I wrote one final letter which said I'd stop now because, well, why bother.
My last contact with her was a request for her to join me at Roger and Margret's wedding reception. She wanted to go, but not with me. I can still hear her quick "bye" and hang-up of the phone. When I was in high school, I would call girls that I had no business of calling, and I often heard that bye-click, always accompanied with belittlement. It was so hard to experience that one more time, coming from the girl with whom I shared a love I had never shared before.
But I survived it. Walking in the rain after the reception was the hardest moment of my life, yet I knew it would get better from that point. I could and would make it better, and I deserved to have better moments from then on.
There were two letters I wrote to Pam that were never sent. One was possibly the greatest love letter I ever wrote, which had great prose and, since it was written while we were no longer a couple, shouldn't have been sent anyway. The other one that stayed with me was the last letter ever wrote to her. It was much shorter and said that she threw away a great romance and that she'll regret it for the rest of her life.
I wonder. She was dating the guy she would eventually marry, yet was swooning over me, an old flame, making future promises to wait for me and going back for another good-night kiss when I didn't kiss her back the first time. Hm. Perhaps I should've written her a letter that detailed every moment of that night, turning Jud into Pandora once he opened it. If I were a vengeful man, I suppose I could still make him uncomfortable.
For me, as soon as I met Margie, I knew how great she was. I didn't even think I had a chance for her love, considering her the archetype of the girl with whom I wanted to share a lifetime. Once it was apparent that Margie herself could be the one, I've never regretted dedicating my life to her. Ever. I can say this with complete honesty; Pam can't. Pretty cool, eh? (heh heh)
Anyway, I didn't plan on writing about Pam here. I wanted to write about writing about Pam, or rather, about all the journal entries I made that were written out of anguish and desperation. I would try to come up with a big analogy and turn it into a story, and I think that for Pam, I had one sketched out about a dolphin and a fish. It would be illustrated (based on a well-illustrated children's book involving fish) and give a message to her: I was the one for her and I'd still be available when she was ready to take me back. Or something to that effect. I'm happy to say the offer hasn't been valid for quite some time. I must've loved the big analogy-symbolism-story idea, as I semi-wrote another one for Bridget, one of the many short romances that, in retrospect, didn't deserve the paper on which such saving throws were planned.
Around this time, I was in a bookstore and a pretty blonde girl was offering me help. I caught her name (Laura), found out somehow that she liked turtles, and wanted to gauge her interest in me. Deciding that a trial run of a book-with-a-purpose was in order, I made up a little book about a turtle that went to a store and met another turtle, to whom he was attracted. But he didn't know how to offer his heart to her, so he did it by making a book. The story within a story was the legit one. "Hi, Laura, I'm Dave. Here's my number, if you'd like to..." and so on. It only took a few hours to create, but I was pleased with it. I delivered it to the store and, since Laura wasn't there, asked that it be given to her. (As long as no one named Jud was working there, I could feel pretty good that the gift would find its intended recipient.)
She did call me back, thankfully, and we talked on the phone for an hour. I learned that she was fond of her beat-up car, which had the name of Carlos. (Wow, I hadn't recollected that in 15 years, but I think it was Carlos. Or am I mixing up her last name of Carl with the word "car" and my fondness for a certain baseball pitcher that will likely be an ex-Cub soon? I digress.) It seemed to me at the time that she'd be interested enough to call again. But she never did, and I may have tried calling her back once to no avail. Romance over. Did nothing else happen because she was 17 or so and wasn't into dating a 23 or so year-old? Or did she give a courtesy call and leave it at that? Or was I really just a big joke to her, a prime candidate for another round of hurled tomatoes? It would become another mystery, one that would be supplemented with self-doubt, of which I've usually carried with me too close to the heart.
I started working at a small radio station within a year of the book, and though there weren't any love prospects working at the station, a couple of girls would clean the place after hours, and one of them had a nice figure and seemed to like me. Paula and I made out in the family room once and maybe kissed during a chance meeting in a Denny's parking lot another time. Just as well that we didn't have sex, as it may have been statutory rape. Anyway, it's not really worth mentioning here but for one shared moment of her recent past. I may have wanted to impress her with my romantic abilities - likely a failed ploy to get in her pants - and told her about this little book I made for a girl named Laura who worked at a bookstore in Aurora. Sure enough, Paula and Laura had both been in the same choir at a high school in Big Rock, far west of Aurora and Batavia. As it turns out, Laura was really floored and flattered by what I had done, finding great joy from the gift and sharing it with others during one choir practice. I had made her day. She was on cloud nine because of me for a little while.
I rather like that story. It didn't get me anywhere with Laura or Paula, but it got me a little closer to myself, allowing me to recognize my ability to love and make others happy.
It really bugs me that I can't create such wonderful mementos for Margie. I think it's because I'm no longer new to love and/or desperate for love. I wrote a great love letter to Cassi, a four-month girl shortly before Margie that wasn't really a good match for me and ended up hurting me terribly. In no way did she deserve such a great letter. She had death-breath and the biggest growth of pubic hair I ever saw. Lack of grooming habits aside, she was okay, just a girl when I didn't have one, a reminder of the pain of my failed college romance when was gone. She didn't deserve any great words of love from me. The only one that deserves such written keepsakes of love met me shortly after I stopped writing on a daily basis.
Perhaps the reason why I started this blog was to get back to writing more, expressing my life in words, so as to share it with the one that still has my heart in her pocket.
And I know that this one post isn't the love letter you deserve, but I'm working on it with all the love I have for you.
Arf.
What about other stories? In my twenties, I filled several journals (diaries for men) with my difficulties in finding a love, starting at the point where my college relationship was beginning to crumble. The first entry name-checks her, then goes right into my short-lived fascination with a spectacled brunette named Karri who wrote for a rival newspaper in the area and had no interest in me. There's proof of a love going wrong for you.
But I did love the girl from college, and I was very scared of facing the real world without her being involved in some way. Over the course of that first year after graduation, we stayed together (albeit 300 miles apart) for six months, had a "you better go home" fight that started during sex, didn't speak for a week, had a reconcilement over the phone, went through several months of tip-toeing on my part and wooing another on hers, and broke up at the end of the summer, when she promptly started dating and living with my senior year roommate. Seeing her sit on his lap at a New Year's party gave me such a pain, but I got over her just in time to spend one last St. Patrick's night together, which undid the getting over her for several more years. Sure, I dated others during that time, but I had a very hard time giving up hope of a permanent reunion.
Of course, it didn't happen. Last I read, Pam married the guy she was dating at the time of St. Patrick's Day, 1995, and shares a dental office with him. She hyphenated her name, which looks tacky on so many levels. No clue if they have children, but I suspect they do, like nearly every other couple my age does. I stay away from the alumni mags, mostly because I want to stay away from her in every way possible.
After our St. Patrick's fling, where she said nice things about the guy (named Jud, I believe), she also reminisced about how great we were as a couple, how our love was something she thought "few people could ever hope to experience," how great it would be if we grew old together, and how she'd be available when school was done in a little over two years. She got over those feelings - that night was the last time I ever saw her - and by the time I met Margie four-and-a-half years later, I was fine with the change of heart. But it took a lot longer for me to close the door on her than it should've taken.
After that last night together, she stayed down in Alton and I stayed in Batavia, writing her several times to keep me in her heart, and when I called to ask why she hadn't been writing back, she mentioned that she hadn't gotten any letters and that Jud had been picking up the mail. I responded with a certified letter and a promise to write every week, and after half-a-dozen letters that never merited a response, I wrote one final letter which said I'd stop now because, well, why bother.
My last contact with her was a request for her to join me at Roger and Margret's wedding reception. She wanted to go, but not with me. I can still hear her quick "bye" and hang-up of the phone. When I was in high school, I would call girls that I had no business of calling, and I often heard that bye-click, always accompanied with belittlement. It was so hard to experience that one more time, coming from the girl with whom I shared a love I had never shared before.
But I survived it. Walking in the rain after the reception was the hardest moment of my life, yet I knew it would get better from that point. I could and would make it better, and I deserved to have better moments from then on.
There were two letters I wrote to Pam that were never sent. One was possibly the greatest love letter I ever wrote, which had great prose and, since it was written while we were no longer a couple, shouldn't have been sent anyway. The other one that stayed with me was the last letter ever wrote to her. It was much shorter and said that she threw away a great romance and that she'll regret it for the rest of her life.
I wonder. She was dating the guy she would eventually marry, yet was swooning over me, an old flame, making future promises to wait for me and going back for another good-night kiss when I didn't kiss her back the first time. Hm. Perhaps I should've written her a letter that detailed every moment of that night, turning Jud into Pandora once he opened it. If I were a vengeful man, I suppose I could still make him uncomfortable.
For me, as soon as I met Margie, I knew how great she was. I didn't even think I had a chance for her love, considering her the archetype of the girl with whom I wanted to share a lifetime. Once it was apparent that Margie herself could be the one, I've never regretted dedicating my life to her. Ever. I can say this with complete honesty; Pam can't. Pretty cool, eh? (heh heh)
Anyway, I didn't plan on writing about Pam here. I wanted to write about writing about Pam, or rather, about all the journal entries I made that were written out of anguish and desperation. I would try to come up with a big analogy and turn it into a story, and I think that for Pam, I had one sketched out about a dolphin and a fish. It would be illustrated (based on a well-illustrated children's book involving fish) and give a message to her: I was the one for her and I'd still be available when she was ready to take me back. Or something to that effect. I'm happy to say the offer hasn't been valid for quite some time. I must've loved the big analogy-symbolism-story idea, as I semi-wrote another one for Bridget, one of the many short romances that, in retrospect, didn't deserve the paper on which such saving throws were planned.
Around this time, I was in a bookstore and a pretty blonde girl was offering me help. I caught her name (Laura), found out somehow that she liked turtles, and wanted to gauge her interest in me. Deciding that a trial run of a book-with-a-purpose was in order, I made up a little book about a turtle that went to a store and met another turtle, to whom he was attracted. But he didn't know how to offer his heart to her, so he did it by making a book. The story within a story was the legit one. "Hi, Laura, I'm Dave. Here's my number, if you'd like to..." and so on. It only took a few hours to create, but I was pleased with it. I delivered it to the store and, since Laura wasn't there, asked that it be given to her. (As long as no one named Jud was working there, I could feel pretty good that the gift would find its intended recipient.)
She did call me back, thankfully, and we talked on the phone for an hour. I learned that she was fond of her beat-up car, which had the name of Carlos. (Wow, I hadn't recollected that in 15 years, but I think it was Carlos. Or am I mixing up her last name of Carl with the word "car" and my fondness for a certain baseball pitcher that will likely be an ex-Cub soon? I digress.) It seemed to me at the time that she'd be interested enough to call again. But she never did, and I may have tried calling her back once to no avail. Romance over. Did nothing else happen because she was 17 or so and wasn't into dating a 23 or so year-old? Or did she give a courtesy call and leave it at that? Or was I really just a big joke to her, a prime candidate for another round of hurled tomatoes? It would become another mystery, one that would be supplemented with self-doubt, of which I've usually carried with me too close to the heart.
I started working at a small radio station within a year of the book, and though there weren't any love prospects working at the station, a couple of girls would clean the place after hours, and one of them had a nice figure and seemed to like me. Paula and I made out in the family room once and maybe kissed during a chance meeting in a Denny's parking lot another time. Just as well that we didn't have sex, as it may have been statutory rape. Anyway, it's not really worth mentioning here but for one shared moment of her recent past. I may have wanted to impress her with my romantic abilities - likely a failed ploy to get in her pants - and told her about this little book I made for a girl named Laura who worked at a bookstore in Aurora. Sure enough, Paula and Laura had both been in the same choir at a high school in Big Rock, far west of Aurora and Batavia. As it turns out, Laura was really floored and flattered by what I had done, finding great joy from the gift and sharing it with others during one choir practice. I had made her day. She was on cloud nine because of me for a little while.
I rather like that story. It didn't get me anywhere with Laura or Paula, but it got me a little closer to myself, allowing me to recognize my ability to love and make others happy.
It really bugs me that I can't create such wonderful mementos for Margie. I think it's because I'm no longer new to love and/or desperate for love. I wrote a great love letter to Cassi, a four-month girl shortly before Margie that wasn't really a good match for me and ended up hurting me terribly. In no way did she deserve such a great letter. She had death-breath and the biggest growth of pubic hair I ever saw. Lack of grooming habits aside, she was okay, just a girl when I didn't have one, a reminder of the pain of my failed college romance when was gone. She didn't deserve any great words of love from me. The only one that deserves such written keepsakes of love met me shortly after I stopped writing on a daily basis.
Perhaps the reason why I started this blog was to get back to writing more, expressing my life in words, so as to share it with the one that still has my heart in her pocket.
And I know that this one post isn't the love letter you deserve, but I'm working on it with all the love I have for you.
Arf.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Jumping to conclusions
Last post predicted that TFA would never play again, and while it's true that the band will be on hiatus after our October 28th gig, saying that we wouldn't even play today's gig was premature and the product of high emotions and my constant fault of taking things personally.
At the church in Palatine, we played for a small group of people. Maybe "group" is too grandiose a turn; at one point, there were exactly ZERO people watching us. We were in a big room with no one in there, and someone shut the doors on us. The next person to come in started vacuuming the floor while we performed. More people arrived near the end, and perhaps 20 folk were there for our finale, but I've never played in front of nobody before.
Kind of funny, ain't it? I've spent so much physical and emotional energy with this band, and for that moment, it had no impact on anyone in the world. We're obviously not the type of band whose break-up will devastate our loyal flock of supporters. They don't exist.
We sounded quite good today. Again, we were asked to keep it down several times, and it was an exercise in seeing how quiet I could play the drums. (It's not hard for me, thanks to two years' worth of playing in the high school show choir, where I was constantly warned to keep it down.)
TFA has one more gig left, where we will certainly play for at least one person at all times. Then we're done as TFA, but maybe the four of us (and not her) will get together occasionally to jam and enjoy ourselves.
Back to something, though: here I was, thinking that the whole band was getting mad at me, trying to replace me or let me go immediately. I was developing fictitious scenes where they're bad-mouthing me and conspiring against me. And of course that wasn't happening, but why do I keep torturing myself in that way? Why am I so damn sensitive? It's almost as if I'm trying to torment myself as a way of toughening up myself, a rough love sorta thing, but all it does is make me sad and paranoid.
I'm rarely comfortable with myself, happy in my own skin. I balance feelings of worthlessness with delusions of grandeur. But I'm really an okay guy. I'm not a star or a once-in-a-generation genius. I'm a pretty smart guy that sees the world in a pretty interesting way. I'm too eager at times, but I mean well. I don't often "play well with others," but it's not for lack of effort or desire. I'm somewhat distinctive, and maybe most people don't know how to handle me.
I'm trying to learn how to handle myself. I need to show myself the same compassion and forgiveness that I show others. If something's keeping me from doing just that, that thing needs to be shut down and disassembled. Buried. Rest in Peace.
At the church in Palatine, we played for a small group of people. Maybe "group" is too grandiose a turn; at one point, there were exactly ZERO people watching us. We were in a big room with no one in there, and someone shut the doors on us. The next person to come in started vacuuming the floor while we performed. More people arrived near the end, and perhaps 20 folk were there for our finale, but I've never played in front of nobody before.
Kind of funny, ain't it? I've spent so much physical and emotional energy with this band, and for that moment, it had no impact on anyone in the world. We're obviously not the type of band whose break-up will devastate our loyal flock of supporters. They don't exist.
We sounded quite good today. Again, we were asked to keep it down several times, and it was an exercise in seeing how quiet I could play the drums. (It's not hard for me, thanks to two years' worth of playing in the high school show choir, where I was constantly warned to keep it down.)
TFA has one more gig left, where we will certainly play for at least one person at all times. Then we're done as TFA, but maybe the four of us (and not her) will get together occasionally to jam and enjoy ourselves.
Back to something, though: here I was, thinking that the whole band was getting mad at me, trying to replace me or let me go immediately. I was developing fictitious scenes where they're bad-mouthing me and conspiring against me. And of course that wasn't happening, but why do I keep torturing myself in that way? Why am I so damn sensitive? It's almost as if I'm trying to torment myself as a way of toughening up myself, a rough love sorta thing, but all it does is make me sad and paranoid.
I'm rarely comfortable with myself, happy in my own skin. I balance feelings of worthlessness with delusions of grandeur. But I'm really an okay guy. I'm not a star or a once-in-a-generation genius. I'm a pretty smart guy that sees the world in a pretty interesting way. I'm too eager at times, but I mean well. I don't often "play well with others," but it's not for lack of effort or desire. I'm somewhat distinctive, and maybe most people don't know how to handle me.
I'm trying to learn how to handle myself. I need to show myself the same compassion and forgiveness that I show others. If something's keeping me from doing just that, that thing needs to be shut down and disassembled. Buried. Rest in Peace.
Friday, October 14, 2011
TFA: might never play again
Paulito never responded to my e-mail, suggesting we look at his friend before calling it a day. I had to forward it to him this morning, in order to get a response. Of course, his response was cold, saying that it was before Eileen chose to leave, and that he still has work issues.
So I'm hurt. Hurt enough to not want to see these people right now. So I wrote the band and told them that a personal issue has developed and that I might not be able to make the CROP Walk gig, but I'd let them know as soon as I can.
Paulito has sent a reply e-mail waiting in my inbox, which I'm currently choosing to ignore. Man, this is way too much drama. There's a strong chance that he'll decide to pull out of the Mensa gig, which wouldn't really hurt me, as only one of us wanted to play that gig anyway. That's Digger. Poor guy; he means well but has made some missteps lately. I'm sure he badly wants to play WeeM, now more than ever, and if it falls apart, he might hold me partially responsible for it.
All of this sucks. Get me out of this band. Another one, sure, though I'll want to wait on that for a while. But this band, and their inability or unwillingness to communicate and resolve, blows. Perhaps this is why bands needs leaders, those who have a greater say than others but are loved and respected. If not, everyone needs to buy into the greater good. Eileen was clearly not willing to do that and was only looking at her self-interests.
Okay, on to studying. I need to get this last part of the MLC math material done. Margie and I are going to see Primus tonight. Hell yeah!
So I'm hurt. Hurt enough to not want to see these people right now. So I wrote the band and told them that a personal issue has developed and that I might not be able to make the CROP Walk gig, but I'd let them know as soon as I can.
Paulito has sent a reply e-mail waiting in my inbox, which I'm currently choosing to ignore. Man, this is way too much drama. There's a strong chance that he'll decide to pull out of the Mensa gig, which wouldn't really hurt me, as only one of us wanted to play that gig anyway. That's Digger. Poor guy; he means well but has made some missteps lately. I'm sure he badly wants to play WeeM, now more than ever, and if it falls apart, he might hold me partially responsible for it.
All of this sucks. Get me out of this band. Another one, sure, though I'll want to wait on that for a while. But this band, and their inability or unwillingness to communicate and resolve, blows. Perhaps this is why bands needs leaders, those who have a greater say than others but are loved and respected. If not, everyone needs to buy into the greater good. Eileen was clearly not willing to do that and was only looking at her self-interests.
Okay, on to studying. I need to get this last part of the MLC math material done. Margie and I are going to see Primus tonight. Hell yeah!
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
this afternoon
I'm in a completely different mood now, and it's not just because I'm sitting in my underwear reading stuff about the Cubs' new GM.
My first appointment with Tom (as he prefers to be called) was quite good. When I first got there, I had gone through an amazing string of bad luck. Comcast cable went down. That knocked out my Internet connection and the VoIP phone, and since I don't own a cell phone, I had no way of contacting anyone. So I left early for my appointment, with the intention of finding a WiFi portal on the way, so that I could send an e-mail to Margie and ask her to contact Comcast about it. Of course, there were no such places on the way, at least not where I had to dtop for light and got the chance to pull into a gas station.
When I got into the center, the lady behind the counter said that yes, they had WiFi. But my computer wouldn't turn on, suddenly, and it wouldn't even reset. I thought I had enough battery, but of course, this happens on this day. The lady let me use the phone to call Margie, but it went to her voice mail, which she sometimes misses. At the time, this string of bad luck felt like it only happened to me, and at an alarming frequency.
After coming into Tom's office and handing over the paperwork, he asked me for Margie's social security number, which I've been meaning to memorize but haven't yet. So I called again. This time she answered, but said that Comcast wanted someone to call them from home. How was I supposed to do that without Internet? I can't be of help, she said, until I get home with my cell phone later this afternoon.
I cried three times during the hour-long session: once at the beginning, once in mentioning the personal problem, and a light one while discussing how difficult it would be if we were to have a child that was mentally disabled like my brother.
We didn't get into a ton of different things, since a good portion of the time dealt with paperwork, but we discussed my positive and negative feelings that I had as a youth toward each of my parents. There were significant contradictions in there, which Tom said was expected. Near the end of the session, he brought up Jung's theory of archetypes and said that I had too much love energy and not enough king energy.
I was enthralled in reading about these archetypes: I found an abstract of a study and found myself seeing some people from my past and future listed amongst the descriptions of the shadows, which are archetypes taken to one extreme or the other. When I got to the healthy "lover" archetype - or the "troubadour," as Tom called it - I cried as I read a description of the person I've wanted to be for so long. But only after reading the entire abstract did I realize that my biggest issue might not be my transgression to the shadows of the lover, known as the Addict and the Impotent. It might be my increasing desire to be solely the lover, repressing any king, warrior and magician selves I may have inside of my psyche. Lots to digest, but it tastes very good, knowing that I'm taking a proactive and healthful approach to recovery.
There may be hope for me yet. It'll take a long time and a lot of work to get there, but that's okay. The healthy king doesn't get side-tracked by pettiness and keeps long-term goals in mind. Just remembering that helps strengthen my king energy.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to choose the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
My first appointment with Tom (as he prefers to be called) was quite good. When I first got there, I had gone through an amazing string of bad luck. Comcast cable went down. That knocked out my Internet connection and the VoIP phone, and since I don't own a cell phone, I had no way of contacting anyone. So I left early for my appointment, with the intention of finding a WiFi portal on the way, so that I could send an e-mail to Margie and ask her to contact Comcast about it. Of course, there were no such places on the way, at least not where I had to dtop for light and got the chance to pull into a gas station.
When I got into the center, the lady behind the counter said that yes, they had WiFi. But my computer wouldn't turn on, suddenly, and it wouldn't even reset. I thought I had enough battery, but of course, this happens on this day. The lady let me use the phone to call Margie, but it went to her voice mail, which she sometimes misses. At the time, this string of bad luck felt like it only happened to me, and at an alarming frequency.
After coming into Tom's office and handing over the paperwork, he asked me for Margie's social security number, which I've been meaning to memorize but haven't yet. So I called again. This time she answered, but said that Comcast wanted someone to call them from home. How was I supposed to do that without Internet? I can't be of help, she said, until I get home with my cell phone later this afternoon.
I cried three times during the hour-long session: once at the beginning, once in mentioning the personal problem, and a light one while discussing how difficult it would be if we were to have a child that was mentally disabled like my brother.
We didn't get into a ton of different things, since a good portion of the time dealt with paperwork, but we discussed my positive and negative feelings that I had as a youth toward each of my parents. There were significant contradictions in there, which Tom said was expected. Near the end of the session, he brought up Jung's theory of archetypes and said that I had too much love energy and not enough king energy.
I was enthralled in reading about these archetypes: I found an abstract of a study and found myself seeing some people from my past and future listed amongst the descriptions of the shadows, which are archetypes taken to one extreme or the other. When I got to the healthy "lover" archetype - or the "troubadour," as Tom called it - I cried as I read a description of the person I've wanted to be for so long. But only after reading the entire abstract did I realize that my biggest issue might not be my transgression to the shadows of the lover, known as the Addict and the Impotent. It might be my increasing desire to be solely the lover, repressing any king, warrior and magician selves I may have inside of my psyche. Lots to digest, but it tastes very good, knowing that I'm taking a proactive and healthful approach to recovery.
There may be hope for me yet. It'll take a long time and a lot of work to get there, but that's okay. The healthy king doesn't get side-tracked by pettiness and keeps long-term goals in mind. Just remembering that helps strengthen my king energy.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to choose the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
this morning
I wrote the following this morning, before my first session, but I was unable to post it at the time. In the spirit of openness and honesty, I will post it now.
Last night, Digger decided to write everyone and ask what was up, specifically because he was getting requests for TFA to play places and he didn't know what to tell them. It's an understandable query, but one that I wish he had done in person, where it wouldn't have been so easy for Paulito to announce his hiatus, which he just did this morning.
Eileen should have to live with the fact that she broke up the band. I bet she'll kid herself into thinking that it had nothing to do with her. But it had everything to do with her, and it's important to me that she be aware of her role in the dismantling of TFA. I don't know exactly how I'll tell her, as I'm not a big fan of confrontation either, but since we're going down, having a few extra flames in the fire ain't so bad.
TFA has defined me, and I swallowed a lot of pride to stay in it, only to have others be much less flexible. I just can’t correctly handle anything. Now I’m leaving, but I don’t even get to do it on my terms. That is, unless I skip the CROP walk, which is a charity event and would stick it to Paulito, or not bother with WeeM, which would completely ruin MY time at the weekend-long event and really stick it to Digger, the only friend I’ll keep out of this. Again, I’m stuck.
I’m aware that the blog has not been the “math, music and art” board that I originally envisioned it to be. Then, again, I didn’t realize how difficult my life would become.
In about an hour, I’ll be headed to the old hospital to meet for the first time with a therapist. I went to see a “shrink” twice in 1999, when the world seemed very strange and I started to have panic attacks. After five minutes, the first therapist said that she couldn’t see me anymore and referred me to someone else at another time. (You can imagine how upset this made me, since I likely had feelings of rejection at the time and got rejected by my own therapist right away.) The second one took a strange tactic with me and was deliberately nasty to me. I remember telling him off and leaving, and somehow feeling better out of it. Did he know that such a tactic was most beneficial to me? Here’s hoping that no such move will be instituted by the new guy today.
It’s different this time, though. In 1999, I was a few months into a new job at IBM that was hurting my social life, but I was making more money than ever before, working in a big building (something I wanted to do) and in the middle of dating a lot of different women. Until 1998, I only dated one girl a year, the relationship usually starting in late January or so and ending around May Day. Seriously, it was almost like clockwork. But in 1998-1999, I got around a lot. I now like to think of that time as “the quickening,” in reference to the sci-fi sword-wielding cult hit “Highlander,” where a few immortals on this earth start being drawn to each other to fight one other, since only they can kill each other, with there being only one left. (Okay, maybe that part was “the gathering,” but my experiences of those two years seemed to quickly lead me to Margie, whom I met a week before Thanksgiving in 1999.)
This time, apart from my wonderful marriage, nothing’s going right for me. I suppose my health is still okay, but that’s nothing new. No job. Questionable prospects, even IF I pass next month’s exam. 40 years old now. Very few friends, most of them estranged or wrapped up in their own families. My social outlet, the band, is done. And I haven’t even brought up the biggest source of sadness in my life, but it’s too private a matter to discuss here, even though only one other person reads this board and that person is aware of it.
Huh. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my Internet went down. So I’ve had to write this from a Word file. Not a big deal in the grand scheme, but it’s another unwelcome raindrop hitting me in the eye.
It sounds like the Cubs just nabbed Theo Epstein, the Red Sox’ general manager, for five years. At least some good news in coming to my team. Doesn’t it somehow make perfect sense that my team is the Cubs?
During one Halloween night in college, a bunch of friends went to a local graveyard to goof around and try to scare each other. We were likely tipsy at the time but did nothing illegal on the grounds. However, Angela’s asthma had acted up and she couldn’t run with the rest of the crowd, so I stayed back with her. Margaret poked fun at the two of us with our asthma, not being able to keep up. While I do have asthma, it wasn’t bad and I could’ve easily kept pace. But I chose not to, instead opting to comfort someone in need. No one else saw it that way, though. This little story often feels like my entire life. I could excel, but I stay behind for some reason that is completely unappreciated. Why must I do this? No one asks me to lag, or to fail, or to regress and retard. Yet I keep doing it, and too often, it feels like I don’t know how to change my behavior.
Now everything from Comcast is down: TV, Internet, and phone, since I have VoIP. I can’t contact anyone. Seriously, what is going on in my life? Can I ever make the right decision or get lucky? Ever?
Monday, October 10, 2011
No woman, no cry
I realized lately that Eileen is a diva, and that it's not so bad that she's leaving. She's not at all a bad person and has usually been friendly, but in the context of TFA, she took on the air of a diva. I'll give you reasons to my conclusion:
She showed no interest in learning an instrument, other than shaking a tambourine. She did it at strange times and did not seem receptive to learning when and how to do it better.
She didn't push for anyone else to sing certain songs. She once complained that she was only involved in half of the songs. The combined lead vocals from the other four members, all of whom had a lot more experience in the band, barely equaled her total, yet she had a "I'm not saying, I'm just saying" issue with it. Were we supposed to stop playing an hour earlier because she hadn't learned enough songs with us yet?
When Gumby would come on-stage to play drums for "Rockin' in the Free World" or "Still The Night," there was no concern. But when I brought him on to play on one of her songs, it angered her to the point of cursing me out on stage. Her biggest beef? It was too fast. (First off, it wasn't that much faster - in fact, it was more danceable at Gumby's tempo - and secondly, every other band member adjusted to it right away, but she had an issue with it.)
She could always make gigs where she could be seen by her friends. But for other gigs, her availability was not as good. (Not a ton of evidence to back this one up, but I took this impression away from the whole thing.)
When we were going to try out Jamie, the girl that could sing and play keys, she did not want her to sing lead on any songs at all. Not a handful, not a few, not one. None. Her reasoning? "Because I don't do anything but sing in this band," or something to that effect. Even if she lost none of her leads and might end up singing even more than before, she wouldn't budge. Because she's one-dimensional, we were expected to cater to that. She had to be the only girl singer. She could not be expected to let some other girl sing lead, I guess.
She would occasionally change everyone else's set list when it came to her songs. She would do it days in advance, or sometimes right before the concert. Yet, during a recent gig, when I told the band to scrap a song that I was going to sing, she frowned upon it.
Her complaint about my Facebook posting was over-reaching. I complained about the Beacon Tap and our continued problems at playing outside there on my own Facebook page, not TFA's, yet she had the gall to tell me to take down what I wrote. Other band members said that they wouldn't have been happy if I had posted it on the TFA site, but were accepting of it on my own. Eileen could not accept.
She would leave the stage whenever she wasn't involved in a song. It looked quite unprofessional, but she preferred to leaving the stage and talk to her friends, ignoring the band when not singing.
Again, Eileen's not a terrible person. She was genuinely grateful when we took her on, and she was a very strong singer, lack of stage presence notwithstanding. but maybe the band's better off. For my standpoint, any move was a good move, but this move a bit of a shock to me when it happened. Now, it's not so bad.
After her announcement and my request that she reconsider, Eileen wrote me back and said that the two of us "are on totally different pages on what we are looking to get out of this whole experience." And she's right. The way I see it, Eileen's goal was to get the continued adoration of her friends by singing songs in her wheelhouse, while my goals were more long-term, demanding and democratic.
I'll admit, I wanted an equal share of the spotlight, as did everyone else. But she wanted as much of it as her talents could handle. Diva-esque, wouldn't you say?
Margie reminded me that Eileen considers herself to be very non-confrontational. She could work at straightening all of this out, but she'd rather quit instead. Her e-mail asked that I accept it and leave it at that. I will accept it, but not because a confrontation might fail at resolving the issues at hand. I'll accept it because I'd rather not have a diva in the band.
She showed no interest in learning an instrument, other than shaking a tambourine. She did it at strange times and did not seem receptive to learning when and how to do it better.
She didn't push for anyone else to sing certain songs. She once complained that she was only involved in half of the songs. The combined lead vocals from the other four members, all of whom had a lot more experience in the band, barely equaled her total, yet she had a "I'm not saying, I'm just saying" issue with it. Were we supposed to stop playing an hour earlier because she hadn't learned enough songs with us yet?
When Gumby would come on-stage to play drums for "Rockin' in the Free World" or "Still The Night," there was no concern. But when I brought him on to play on one of her songs, it angered her to the point of cursing me out on stage. Her biggest beef? It was too fast. (First off, it wasn't that much faster - in fact, it was more danceable at Gumby's tempo - and secondly, every other band member adjusted to it right away, but she had an issue with it.)
She could always make gigs where she could be seen by her friends. But for other gigs, her availability was not as good. (Not a ton of evidence to back this one up, but I took this impression away from the whole thing.)
When we were going to try out Jamie, the girl that could sing and play keys, she did not want her to sing lead on any songs at all. Not a handful, not a few, not one. None. Her reasoning? "Because I don't do anything but sing in this band," or something to that effect. Even if she lost none of her leads and might end up singing even more than before, she wouldn't budge. Because she's one-dimensional, we were expected to cater to that. She had to be the only girl singer. She could not be expected to let some other girl sing lead, I guess.
She would occasionally change everyone else's set list when it came to her songs. She would do it days in advance, or sometimes right before the concert. Yet, during a recent gig, when I told the band to scrap a song that I was going to sing, she frowned upon it.
Her complaint about my Facebook posting was over-reaching. I complained about the Beacon Tap and our continued problems at playing outside there on my own Facebook page, not TFA's, yet she had the gall to tell me to take down what I wrote. Other band members said that they wouldn't have been happy if I had posted it on the TFA site, but were accepting of it on my own. Eileen could not accept.
She would leave the stage whenever she wasn't involved in a song. It looked quite unprofessional, but she preferred to leaving the stage and talk to her friends, ignoring the band when not singing.
Again, Eileen's not a terrible person. She was genuinely grateful when we took her on, and she was a very strong singer, lack of stage presence notwithstanding. but maybe the band's better off. For my standpoint, any move was a good move, but this move a bit of a shock to me when it happened. Now, it's not so bad.
After her announcement and my request that she reconsider, Eileen wrote me back and said that the two of us "are on totally different pages on what we are looking to get out of this whole experience." And she's right. The way I see it, Eileen's goal was to get the continued adoration of her friends by singing songs in her wheelhouse, while my goals were more long-term, demanding and democratic.
I'll admit, I wanted an equal share of the spotlight, as did everyone else. But she wanted as much of it as her talents could handle. Diva-esque, wouldn't you say?
Margie reminded me that Eileen considers herself to be very non-confrontational. She could work at straightening all of this out, but she'd rather quit instead. Her e-mail asked that I accept it and leave it at that. I will accept it, but not because a confrontation might fail at resolving the issues at hand. I'll accept it because I'd rather not have a diva in the band.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Wow
Damien Rice. His first album. Wow.
I don't think I've heard of him before tonight, but what he writes and plays and sings is gorgeous. And it seems not so far out of reach for me.
Maybe this is what I should do. Play this sort of music. Work on writing such music.
What I hate about my communicative ability is that it'll take me 500 words to express something that could've been said in 100, while it'll take Rice and other lyricists 100 words to say 500 words' worth.
Must try. Must try.
I don't think I've heard of him before tonight, but what he writes and plays and sings is gorgeous. And it seems not so far out of reach for me.
Maybe this is what I should do. Play this sort of music. Work on writing such music.
What I hate about my communicative ability is that it'll take me 500 words to express something that could've been said in 100, while it'll take Rice and other lyricists 100 words to say 500 words' worth.
Must try. Must try.
My musical options
As my musical life is will be changing (with Eileen leaving the band at the end of the month), what could I possibly do next?
- Nothing. Give it up, keeping my drumming to hands on pantlegs and my singing to the shower.
- Nothing for now, but finish studying, get a job, and sort out another personal matter before attempting one or more below options.
- Try out for a musical. I thought about this idea while watching Andy Bernard in "The Office." I've acted before and I like to sing, so why not find a small playhouse that'll put on a musical?
- Drop TFA and play guitar on my own, finding open mikes, possibly writing a few more songs. This is basically what I did when I lived for Virginia, when not in the teacher bands (Big Daddy and the Slurpies, Gulp.) (I loved Gulp, by the way. Short but sweet.)
- Hit lots of karaoke bars. There are great songs I'll only be able to do in that medium.
- Talk to Galen and see what he wants to get going.
- Talk to Brett and see if he's willing to get something going.
- Watch craigslist and bulletin boards at music stores, looking for an opening.
- Get together with Karen's friends, the ones that made up Agave, and get something going with them.
- Stay with Digger and do the two-guy thing.
- Start my own one-hit wonder band. (This is the "shoot for the moon" option.)
- Find a group of folk singers and join in.
- Write and record my own music.
- Stay in TFA as a four-piece.
- Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a new female lead.
- Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a new male keyboardist.
- Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a new drummer and me on keys/guitar.
- Stay in TFA as a five-piece, with a female keyboardist who can sing.
What now?
I had a very rough day yesterday. Several issues, including one I'm not willing to discuss here, have been bringing me down quite a bit lately, and then the announcement from TFA's lead singer, which was made exactly five minutes after our lead guitarist said that he didn't want to play without her. It was the ultimate diva move.
I'm hopeful that Paulito will see his way through this. We played as a band before Eileen. We had a lot of good song ideas that got ignored because they didn't feature Eileen. We learned other songs solely because they were liked by Eileen. A lot of our identity is Eileen, but she wasn't the whole show.
If Paulito calls it a day, we're done. John would likely bail, even if Digger and I wanted to continue without him. But I associate our sound as more Paulito with Eileen, and I always have. When Eileen left the stage, we kept playing. When Paulito did - usually for a quick bathroom break - there was no music.
I don't know what to do about this. No one's talking right now. If we wait to converse with Paulito, does he make up his mind to leave? Then again, can we persuade him anyway? The only thing I could say is that there will now be less drama. Eileen herself said that "females bring drama," after all.
If he stayed, do we want to stay as a four-piece, or do we look to get another singer? Could we find one that plays keys? That would be my preference: getting a female keyboardist that can sing. Oh, Paulito mentioned that he works with a guy that plays keys. I know the gender's wrong, but a keyboard player opens up another dimension of songs for us. It might also give Paulito enough impetus to stay.
So, we have the following options for Paulito. Since it's him that's likely on the fencepost now, these options are really his, not anyone else's:
I was not in the mood to bowl last night. But it's great that I did. I bowled a new high series (544) at a league. My first game was a 211. Yes, in front of other people! Like last time, my third game suffered, but it was still a 158, which is about what my average was going into the league, so I can't complain much. We killed the other team the first game but narrowly lost the other two. At one point, our entire team had ten consecutive strikes. Great stuff.
I was 3-for-3 in making standing seven pins, and I don't remember missing the ten, but I know I had a couple of 6-10s that I pulled left. There's an improvement or two to be made, but you know, I can be in this league and do okay. My first game was the best on the team... except for Dave, the guy's that helped me all along. He joined as a sub and was in the 230's every game.
Okay, on to math. What I did get done yesterday was a good amount of math, and I need such production to be the morn from now until exam day.
I'm hopeful that Paulito will see his way through this. We played as a band before Eileen. We had a lot of good song ideas that got ignored because they didn't feature Eileen. We learned other songs solely because they were liked by Eileen. A lot of our identity is Eileen, but she wasn't the whole show.
If Paulito calls it a day, we're done. John would likely bail, even if Digger and I wanted to continue without him. But I associate our sound as more Paulito with Eileen, and I always have. When Eileen left the stage, we kept playing. When Paulito did - usually for a quick bathroom break - there was no music.
I don't know what to do about this. No one's talking right now. If we wait to converse with Paulito, does he make up his mind to leave? Then again, can we persuade him anyway? The only thing I could say is that there will now be less drama. Eileen herself said that "females bring drama," after all.
If he stayed, do we want to stay as a four-piece, or do we look to get another singer? Could we find one that plays keys? That would be my preference: getting a female keyboardist that can sing. Oh, Paulito mentioned that he works with a guy that plays keys. I know the gender's wrong, but a keyboard player opens up another dimension of songs for us. It might also give Paulito enough impetus to stay.
So, we have the following options for Paulito. Since it's him that's likely on the fencepost now, these options are really his, not anyone else's:
- Stay as a four-piece band;
- Find a new female lead that plays keys;
- Go with the keys-playing co-worker;
- Find a girl that only sings;
- Pull the plug.
I was not in the mood to bowl last night. But it's great that I did. I bowled a new high series (544) at a league. My first game was a 211. Yes, in front of other people! Like last time, my third game suffered, but it was still a 158, which is about what my average was going into the league, so I can't complain much. We killed the other team the first game but narrowly lost the other two. At one point, our entire team had ten consecutive strikes. Great stuff.
I was 3-for-3 in making standing seven pins, and I don't remember missing the ten, but I know I had a couple of 6-10s that I pulled left. There's an improvement or two to be made, but you know, I can be in this league and do okay. My first game was the best on the team... except for Dave, the guy's that helped me all along. He joined as a sub and was in the 230's every game.
Okay, on to math. What I did get done yesterday was a good amount of math, and I need such production to be the morn from now until exam day.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
another quick thought
Hm. Might Eileen know about this blog? I've only told three people about it: my wife, a good friend that also blogs, and Digger. I mentioned it to him once in passing, and I assumed that he would've forgotten about it, or at least mentioned it by now.
There's some pretty caustic stuff on here. I wanted to put it "out there," even if no one else ever read it. It's not intended to be read by certain people. However, it is the description of feelings I've had, as I'm an emotional guy. It's given me a way to work things out, rather than just flip my lid and do something I'd massively regret.
What I've written are perceptions of mine. Perhaps they're wrong, and I'm the first to admit it. Every deserves the benefit of the doubt, hence the reason I write it on a private place, in order to compose my thoughts. If Eileen actually does read this, I hope she realizes that I also deserve that benefit of the doubt.
There's some pretty caustic stuff on here. I wanted to put it "out there," even if no one else ever read it. It's not intended to be read by certain people. However, it is the description of feelings I've had, as I'm an emotional guy. It's given me a way to work things out, rather than just flip my lid and do something I'd massively regret.
What I've written are perceptions of mine. Perhaps they're wrong, and I'm the first to admit it. Every deserves the benefit of the doubt, hence the reason I write it on a private place, in order to compose my thoughts. If Eileen actually does read this, I hope she realizes that I also deserve that benefit of the doubt.
more thoughts
I'm not even checking my e-mail. I can't take it. Too much drama.
Both Margie and I think that this will effectively kill the band.
Looking back, while it's good that I have a laissez-faire approach to the band now, it's a shame that I didn't have that approach all along. Did I think that getting more involved would benefit the band? We haven't gotten any better; our weaknesses are still there. John wasn't ever going to become a rock-solid rhythm guy. Same for Digger. Paulito would still be standoffish. It might have been a good enough environment for Eileen to stay in the band, but we weren't gonna get anywhere with it. We've stagnated, playing the same songs at the same places for the same crowds for the same low levels of respect and money.
There's nothing else I can do to bring Eileen back in the fold while staying true to myself.
Let's say that, somehow, there was another female lead singer that was good and wanted to be in the band. Would all of our problems cease? I'd still have to be hands-off, since Eileen was not the one that kept us from learning "Valerie" or me from playing guitar.
Man, I really want to shrug this off and not care about it. I think I've enjoyed TFA for what it's represented, rather than what it actually entailed. It's very cool for a middle-aged guy to be in a rock band, and not just one that gets together once a year in someone's basement to play "I Ain't Drunk, I'm Just Drinking."
I'm not going to try to save this band. I have no clue how I'd do it anyway. But I feel for Digger. Paulito could probably take it or leave it. I may very well be better off without it. John, not sure. This'll hurt him a lot too. He was more grateful than anyone else to be in TFA.
Even more thoughts to come, I'm sure.
Both Margie and I think that this will effectively kill the band.
Looking back, while it's good that I have a laissez-faire approach to the band now, it's a shame that I didn't have that approach all along. Did I think that getting more involved would benefit the band? We haven't gotten any better; our weaknesses are still there. John wasn't ever going to become a rock-solid rhythm guy. Same for Digger. Paulito would still be standoffish. It might have been a good enough environment for Eileen to stay in the band, but we weren't gonna get anywhere with it. We've stagnated, playing the same songs at the same places for the same crowds for the same low levels of respect and money.
There's nothing else I can do to bring Eileen back in the fold while staying true to myself.
Let's say that, somehow, there was another female lead singer that was good and wanted to be in the band. Would all of our problems cease? I'd still have to be hands-off, since Eileen was not the one that kept us from learning "Valerie" or me from playing guitar.
Man, I really want to shrug this off and not care about it. I think I've enjoyed TFA for what it's represented, rather than what it actually entailed. It's very cool for a middle-aged guy to be in a rock band, and not just one that gets together once a year in someone's basement to play "I Ain't Drunk, I'm Just Drinking."
I'm not going to try to save this band. I have no clue how I'd do it anyway. But I feel for Digger. Paulito could probably take it or leave it. I may very well be better off without it. John, not sure. This'll hurt him a lot too. He was more grateful than anyone else to be in TFA.
Even more thoughts to come, I'm sure.
TFA: imploding
Just got an e-mail this morning from Eileen. She told everyone in the band that she's quitting after our late-October gig at the Mensa party.
I can't catch a break here. Margie and I were discussing how poorly things have gone for me lately, and that I'm due for something good to happen. I'm having a hard time seeing how this is a good thing.
There's a big chance that Paulito will now pull out, and that will definitely kill the band.
I wrote Eileen back right away, telling her not to do this if it's only because of her difficulty with me, as I'm scaling back my involvement with the band in order to enjoy it more. I told her that we can work this out.
It won't work, though. She's stubborn and I can't imagine her coming back, not without me quitting.
Digger's in the middle of a hectic day at his new job, so I won't bother him with this now. He'll read Eileen's e-mail and freak, then try to fix it, but he hasn't been good at making the correct move for a while.
Ugh.
I can't catch a break here. Margie and I were discussing how poorly things have gone for me lately, and that I'm due for something good to happen. I'm having a hard time seeing how this is a good thing.
There's a big chance that Paulito will now pull out, and that will definitely kill the band.
I wrote Eileen back right away, telling her not to do this if it's only because of her difficulty with me, as I'm scaling back my involvement with the band in order to enjoy it more. I told her that we can work this out.
It won't work, though. She's stubborn and I can't imagine her coming back, not without me quitting.
Digger's in the middle of a hectic day at his new job, so I won't bother him with this now. He'll read Eileen's e-mail and freak, then try to fix it, but he hasn't been good at making the correct move for a while.
Ugh.
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