Another one headed your way.

So, last week in unexpected news that hit way harder than I expeced (not sure really what I "expected" I guess I didn't expect to hear our old pal, our French guardian angel, our saving grace died last Sunday. Once again sending me into a deep, rough spiral that makes me just flat-out sad. Is that what getting old is really? Just getting progressibely sadder until you are like my mom, the only one left alive with no one to talk to about the things you used to love, the experiences that made you? I pulled the ol' tour diary off the shelf again and aside from being pissed that I wrote absolutely NOTHING down about our time with the Vicious Fishes, it hit me this time how many times I referred to thinking we were surely gonna die due to some sort of risky behavior or because we were trusting the help of people we did not know. Honestly, Marc really was the guy who epitomized for me the best part of being involved in punk rock - cause he, like so many of us, let a buch of grungy people into his home just because we read the same damn 'zine, and liked some of the same bands. It's incredible, really, what we had there for a while - and maybe it still exists for the kids, but who knows? Is there a way to know if the kids are still jumping into vans and driving thousands of miles and sleeping on floors just to make some noise in the world, and have a good time while travelling and meeting people? Now that I'm not cooking, so not ever really living in the moment anymore, I miss the shit out of playing on the road. Really wish I had tried harder Mike. I'm truly sorry I didn't put my head down and grind more. My lack of confidence just overwhelmed everything I did, even though you for the longest time really did believe I could do it all. Remember when you pushed me to apply for the job of booking agent at the 9:30? Or when you thought I could replace Mia, of all people in their band? Why I couldn't pull my head out of my ass I guess had to do with me not really having a father figure I trusted to love me? I mean, he obviously loved me as best he could, but that wasn't great. Argh. Marc. His cat Krishna, who peed on my sleeping bag that first visit to Paris. I was so furious, and had to spend all that money on washing it, but I could never be angry at Marc. He was just so gentle, happy, and seemingly understood the axiom of life being mostly shit on a day-to-day level but taking joy from little things: cool shows, rad bands, fun meals, exploring the world. He was so sweet to his girlfriend Sonja...all of it. He would still periodically reach out to me, and I have a whole messenger chain with him from say - 10? Years ago where we really did chat well. So many people I wish I lived closer to so we could have stayed friends. Adam commented that he hoped I would "make it to Europe in this lifetime" which is brutal, but sadly appropriate. So do fucking I. Need to get my passport in order is step 1. postscipt: I cannot believe I forgot to wish you a happy birthday. I mean, it's completely irrelevant now, but still. Time passing and people not being around never gets easier. There aree so many things I wish I could remember - so much of living in DC even. So much stuff. Little bits I remember, little impressions, feelings, ideas I had once. I dunno man, it's all super painful and hard to process. I feel like I'm the only one who thinks about these sorts of connections, who sees patterns, who notices stuff. I've been alone a long time, and currently, culture is trying to tell me that I have ruined my life not by not achieving my potential, but by not loving myself enough. It's true, I suppose, and now seems as irrelevant as wishing a dead old boyfriend happy birthday. Scott referred to you last weeekend as "essentially your first husband" which I guess has always been the case, right? Also, Adam told a silly story about buying an album by a band called the Bad Brains from the UK when he was a kid that wasn't THE BAD BRAINS and I thought it was cute, posted it was fantastic and he once again made me feel like he considers me a dearer friend than I really feel I am. He's had so many more adventures than me, and yet I guess ours was at such a formative point in life it stuck. Stuck.