Well....it's not David Lee Roth. Poor Sean. He is devastated. Thought we weren't talking but got a looooooooong message from him last night. He's very sad.
I am much calmer. I think it's because I did a show last night. It calms me right down. I have a show on Monday night at Balthazar at 9:30. I think I'm doing DV8 this Sunday, too, but I'm not entirely sure. I'll find out.
I still love him, but am finding myself much less psycho. Good thing I'm due to get all PMSy again soon. Sigh.
I almost had a great, easy, calm day today. Then...a parking ticket. Fuck! I, according to the man who was writing the ticket, who I didn't punch, lucky for him, have 11 outstanding tickets. Oops. I guess I should start taking care of those. I do seem to have let some things go. I am trying not to let my head explode due to too many balls in the air. I'm just going to have to learn to be a better juggler.
Many layers of startling and bad news today. Darling Sean is overwrought and sad. He feels betrayed on quite a profound level by his relationship with DLR. I don't know, when someone drags you so deeply into their lies I think you spend some time wondering if anything you believe is true.
My mum's youngest brother, my much adored uncle Michael, who is schizophrenic, tried to kill himself last night. My poor mum is pretty freaked out. I mean, it's odd, because he IS schizophrenic, so it's not like it's shocking or out of the blue, but it's sad, and frightening, and I think it makes my mum miss her parents, wishing someone else was in charge. And she loves her baby brother so much, and she feels responsible, wondering if it's her fault.
And an old friend of the family...actually the one I had a fight with a couple of weeks ago about my father's will, you may recall, is dying. He had bladder cancer a couple of years ago, underwent chemotherapy and stuff, and I think it was in remission, and now it's back and it's bad. As far as I know he isn't going to be going through chemo again, and I don't know what avenues he's following in terms of treatment. I think he's just going to let go. This man was the first person to hold me after my parents when I was born. He's a great big black man and always gets very glowy with love when he tells the story of how I fit right in the palm of his hand.
Get used to it, right? Because from now on it's just one fucking piece of sadness after another.
Except for the baby shower of my beautiful, sweet Georgia on Saturday. I can't wait for that baby to get here. I am going to steal it from her all the time. Yummy babies. So edible.
I'm going to put my feet up now, and have a little quiet time to myself. I like this part of the day. Late afternoon/early evening, when it's just me and the cat at home, no tv, no music, just breezes blowing through and comfy sofa on which to stretch out, and snacks, because I actually went grocery shopping yesterday. If you know me well, you know what a feat this is.
Treat each other with tenderness,