Depression Sets In

I am up to Chapter 3 in the Photoshop book...

If I owned a gun, I think I would have put it to my head this morning, and then thought really hard about pulling the trigger, perhaps waiting for some kind of sign, as to what I should do.

I felt disappointed with being a human being.

With our feet and our teeth and our bodies that aren't that much different than the apes in the jungle, only a step ahead in evolution.

I think it might be related to the really strong weed that has been given to me by well meaning friends. I think it depresses me, and yet I keep smoking it, as if the alternative of boredom is worse. Maybe this last batch was sprayed with some chemical that can cause mental confusion.

I just really didn't want to go out to busk.

It was a Friday night.

I logged on to the Bourbon Street webcam and saw a huge swarm of tourists. This was at about 8:30 PM.

I decided to rest and to try to "center" myself and maybe psych myself up.

By midnight, it had just gotten worse. The music on the radio seemed to mock me by being performed by musicians whom, although I had never heard of them, were playing at a higher level than I do.

I initially chose music because I loved it so much; all I needed was a good album and the day was made.

But, it was also a vehicle for self expression. And to "connect" with other people through it. And, to leave something that will endure after I am gone. But that is another thing; how fast music is forgotten.

Eddie Money died last week, for example, and had his last 15 seconds of fame when the news stations reported it, played a few seconds of his hit songs, and then moved on to the weather.

I decided to just try to go to sleep.

I could have had a hundred plus dollar night out there, but I felt stupid, and that my songs were even more stupid and pointless. I imagined another group of musicians set up at the Lilly Pad with their tip basket overflowing, and ready to tell me that they had been there all week and had spoken to Lilly, who had told them that I hadn't been around lately and that I must have quit busking.


They are "pickling" the pipes that are connected to the heating and air conditioning systems here at Sacred Heart, and I wouldn't be surprised if noxious gasses are leaking out of those ancient units.


It's kind of weird because just recently I couldn't believe how happy I was. I felt guilty about feeling so much joy.


I feel like, to those whom a lot is given, a lot is expected in return.

I half expect that any day now, some group is going to knock on my door and say: "You've been here for seven years and have produced no albums, written no novels or done any great works of visual art. You live in an all expenses paid studio, with all these tools at your disposal, and yet, have wasted it all, now get out!"

But, it is now Saturday night, and very windy out.
I suppose I could just dial Lilly's number and talk to her; explain that I've been taking a lot of time off to mess around with the keyboard and the electric guitar that I now have around the apartment.

Hopefully tomorrow's post will be much more upbeat. I haven't been posting much lately because most of them would have been just as dour as this one...