I Don't Have to Go Home, but I Can't Stay Here

I picked up a guitar for the first time in a while, a very long while, this morning. And played it, yes. It felt good- nay, it felt great. While I don't know if I'm going to produce any new music anytime soon or ever (I have a few ideas, some old, some new, but little motivation or encouragement at the moment), I think just playing guitar helps me. I need to remember that, and make time to do it more often. Get those calluses back. (You'll no doubt be pleased to hear that I haven't forgotten how to play Andersen Silva's greatest hits.)

The holiday season tends to cheer me up and also depress me more, and this low has been in my sights for a while now. Sometimes this Libra does a better job of balancing the scales than others, but it's been hard lately. There's no loneliness like holiday loneliness, and it's hard to shake even when you're among other people, even when they're people you like who like you, too.

Anyway, as a belated Christmas gift to myself, I've decided I'm going to self-impose a new moratorium on social media beginning January 1st. Between Facebook's increasing shadiness (Facebook Watch? anti-competitive practices and fake news?), trolls and bots and polarized people (on both sides) on Twitter, Google Plus dying a slow and agonizing death, and too many people saying too little of import too loudly, it almost physically hurts to spend more than a few minutes on social media anymore. I'm not going to close or delete my accounts, just going to stop reading and posting, at least for a while.

When I first signed up on MySpace in 2005, and then Facebook and Twitter (and Loopt and Brightkite and Friendster and Pownce and Orkut and...) over the following few years, I was mostly interested in trying to get my music out to more of the world (speaking of which, hey, give my Christmas song "Christmas Lonely" a listen!). The Internet has in fact led to people hearing, sometimes even liking, my songs. Then, of course, I started bumping into old friends and colleagues, and meeting new ones (even in real life sometimes), through social media, and I added myself to more and more sites. But I'm realizing that somewhere along the way, I started feeling less and less connected.

I don't need to read (much less participate in) fingerpointing and flame wars about whether George H.W. Bush was a saint or a demon (wouldn't be prudent, and spoiler: he was neither) or whether Trump will end up in the history books as "the best president EVER, believe me" or in a federal penitentiary (my guess: neither, but probably closer to the latter than the former) or whether Ivanka Trump or Hillary Clinton should be "locked up!" (neither-neener-neener). The Earth isn't flat, and climate change is real. I'm not interested in what's going on with Ariana Grande Sans or Kid Rock or Chrissy Teigen or any Kardashians or Wests or Markles or Middletons or Conways. I wasn't spending hours a day scrolling through feeds and Walls anyway, but even the minutes seem too much now. Yes, I'm going to miss out on pictures of kitties and gorgeous plates of food, and birth and death and wedding and divorce announcements, and so many complaints about New Jersey Transit trains and buses, but...

But there are other ways to stay in touch and share information. As I recall, we used to be able to do that even in the days before Facebook and Twitter and instant messaging. ("Why, back in my day...") Most of the few people who actually communicate with me already know how to do that, but for the rest of you, if anyone wants my phone number or E-mail (or snail mail!) address, just ask. I'll still be postin' and scrollin' on Facebook and Twitter and Google Plus for the next month. After that, my social media goes dark... and with any luck, my real world gets a little bit brighter.

Birthday Blues

Five years and eight days ago, I stood at the edge of a precipice over the Housatonic River in Connecticut's Lovers Leap State Park, and for ten minutes or so I pondered joining the mythical leapers at the bottom. Melodramatic, I know, but that was my frame of mind. It was what was supposed to have been my wedding day, before my ex- called off the engagement and then the relationship itself a few months earlier. It was also a few days before my birthday, which I hadn't been expecting to be spending alone.

Anyway (SPOILER ALERT!), I didn't jump. I didn't head out there intending to jump, but yeah, I knew I was unhappy and I didn't know if I could deal with it anymore. I've never made a suicide attempt, never made up my mind to make one, but I think it's safe to say that that day was the closest I've ever been.

Eight days ago, I went back. Guess you could call it another antiversary. I stood near the edge for a while, but although I was not feeling especially happy, I was also not considering jumping this time. I brought a notebook and a pen with me and started writing the lyrics to a song that's been itching in the back of my mind for a while now, and I sat and relished the trees and the squirrels and the birds and the spiders for a good hour. 

Today's my birthday. Go on, sing it, I'll wait... While I believe I'm over the loss of that relationship, I'm still not especially happy. Feeling alone doesn't help, but I suppose it's likely that I suffer from some sort of something. Depression has paid multiple visits throughout my life, though whatever I am, I guess you'd call me "high-functioning." I don't, can't, lock myself away for days at a time. I do get out, I do catch up with friends, I do visit places on my own. I go to work every day and get some complex stuff done. I've certainly had some great times in the past five years, and I expect I've still got more coming. I can genuinely smile and laugh sometimes. I know that I've got family and friends that love me. Doesn't fully chase the blues away, though. I used to have a kind of zen, and it's been largely gone lo these past five years.

Regardless, this is who and what I am. As is all the rage on Facebook these days, I decided to start a little charity fundraiser for my birthday, and chose the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline as the recipient of the hoped-for $200. I'm pleased and grateful that several of my friends donated and put me over that goal ahead of schedule. Thank you, ladies, and thank you all for the birthday wishes, and for reading this far.

2018-02-14

I'd had big hopes for a 'blog post for tonight. A diatribe, or some snark, a lament for my love life perhaps... but I just can't bring myself to write any more than these words. The day started out OK, but I'm just in a dark place now. Maybe we'll try again tomorrow.

Juneteenth I: Life

Got a lot to say this time around, so I've separated it into three 'blog posts: life, politics, and music. This is the life edition.

I'm done with the insomnia, save the sporadic one- or two-night bout since that horrorshow ended in April; thanks, everyone who expressed support and offered suggestions. I think stress played a large role, but the truth is I haven't felt quite like me in a while now. While I've never done (or considered) yoga, or serious meditation, I'd always been able to conjure up a certain amount of zen, so that moments of anger or sorrow or what have you wouldn't overwhelm me for long... but not lately. Not for about three years now. It ebbs and flows, this self-diagnosed depression of mine, but it hasn't ebbed back as far as I'd like in quite some time. Maybe now that I've acknowledged that, I can do something about it, something that doesn't involve downing lots of Herring Wallbangers. I finally started using this Buddha Board, which I bought last year while visiting a Japanese cultural center with my cousin in Florida last year, at work:

I can paint on it with water, and as the water evaporates, my painting disappears. Not that I'm creating masterpieces, even ephemeral ones, with it, but I find it's a good way to get out my feelings or lighten my mood. I also realize that I haven't been running in far too long, and I need to start doing that again. Laura and I had both noticed that working out helped her "even out," and I'm sure it does the same for me.

Keeping busy helps keep my mind from dwelling on things too much, too, and I've certainly been doing that since my last 'blog post. I've seen Tania Stavreva perform at the Drawing Room again, got festive at Lambertville's Shad Fest, viewed "Purple Rain" on the big screen with Rhonda and her daughter Linda, went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art with Barbara for the "Manus x Machina" exhibition, watched my friends Dave and Shawn exchange their vows, took in "Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice" and "Captain America: Civil War" on the same day, followed by some dramatic readings of Edgar Allan Poe's works, visited historic Smithville (and the Olive Garden) with my parents for my dad's birthday, tried several times to engage with a rabbit residing near the office, and enjoyed a much-needed boozy brunch with Yesika in Gramercy, and a slightly-boozy after-work get-together (so many hyphens!) with Jenn and Vaida in Ridgewood. Yesterday, I managed to fit in laundry, the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island and a bit o' sunburn, Trenton's Art All Night (during the early evening, but still), and a Trenton Thunder baseball game, though technically I didn't get home until today. (As always, photos from my excursions through life can be viewed in the Gallery... of Death!) While I'm comfortable with doing a lot of things by myself, it's always nice to know that there are people who do want to get out and do things with me.

And of course there's more comin' up. I need to squeeze in a trip or three to the Jersey shore this summer, of course, as well as at least one trip to the New York Renaissance Faire (and there be new Vixens!). I'll be seeing Tania again in two weeks, first at Carnegie Hall (Carnegie Hall!) and the following evening back at Tenri Cultural Institute. Before that, I'm going to catch Brazilian sensation Céu at the Highline Ballroom, and hopefully two or three shows next weekend. You know what I say about blurs and blurbs... There's a Thanksgiving in July event I believe I shall attend, the Coathangers at the Bowery Ballroom, the Boston Comic Con in August (and I've already bought my ticket to get a photo with Amy Pond and Clara Oswald - yes, it'd long been established that I'm a geek)... and the Prophets of Rage. Yep, I'm going to see the supergroup of justified anger in Brooklyn on August 27th, and help make America rage again. I'm also going to see the one-time Angry Young Man himself, Billy Joel, live in concert for the first (likely only) time, the day after my birthday.

Juneteenth II: Politics