Posted 2:11 AM by sport

For months now, I've been quite ill and getting worse. The primary cause of my illness appears to be sleep apnea, a condition which prevents restful sleep. Apart from grave threats of heart attack and other scary words, one's immune system weakens. Consequently, I've gradually accrued a complex of interwoven ailments... I'm about deaf in one ear (still trying to determine why and what to do about it)... severe allergic reactions and chest congestion, physical aches and pains, bla bla,

The most frustrating effect has been severe fatigue, especially mental. Replying to email, a simple enough act, is nearly impossible; with typos and train-of-thought derailments bedeviling each attempt, I usually decide to "get back to it" and never do. This has probably alienated some people who've assumed I'm ignoring them and it has certainly ensured my isolation. Making any creative work has been out of the question.

The reason this problem has festered is that I never knew it was happening; most of the symptoms are identical to those of the depression and stress I've so tediously detailed here, and lack of sleep is a given when a night-owl is raising twin babies. In the period from January on, particularly, I often thought I was losing my fucking mind. It used to be very helpful to take trips to NYC to socialize and blow off steam, but I had to stop doing this entirely. The few exceptions I made tended to go poorly.

Other issues have made life difficult for us lately... lack of help with the twins, severe financial blows and pressures, family health concerns both typical and extraordinary, the absolute collapse of my ability to sustain even the vesiges of a musical "career" all alone. Hard as all that shit is, it becomes a true hell when mental, physical and emotional resources are eroded by this condition. Life's been a "hold on tight and just get by" proposition.

Been getting tested by doctors, swallowing, snorting and huffing the things they prescribe... kind of. Mostly I try the shit a while and then realize it's no good, like the brain pills that never did seem to help. Toss the shit. Bought a new mattress and began a nutrition/weight-loss program to deal with the apnea and the ennui. Some of the conditions are improving and some are stubborn and a little scary. The effort continues. Obviously, there's a long way to go to get past this and to arrive at a level of health I never really tried to achieve even before all this. But I do feel like progress is being made and I am not pessimistic about it.

Along with all that, it makes sense to let go of some things that have weighed heavily for some time. Rages and resentments. Disappointments and heartbreaks. Out, along with the meds. Flush. There are some plans taking form to do some shows overseas, where a few people like my shit. That and a potential return to making songs (conditional upon my hearing improving) help fill the void left by my brutally unfortunate career in the arts. If it's only an old man's hobby, that's probably a good thing. My little family is the font of love and joy, despite all attendant demands, and that is a nice antidote to the disintegration of the family I grew up with. I add these things to make it clear that I am hopeful, and this whole plaint is only getting posted to explain why I've neither posted nor written anyone in so long. I see no reason why this old guy can't make better work than he did in his youth, or at least have fun doing it, unburdened by expectation of any kind of "success" or acceptance, and I am certain I can rise to the demands of fatherhood and be a fitter, healthier person. Without giving up the absinthe.

I will resume contact, little by little. I thank those friends who've understood, without even an explanation, that I couldn't manage any better, and who've stayed in touch.

All this may seem another case of self-obsessive whining and/or overly intimate revelation. Well, friends (even those who are strangers) will recognize that this is just how I am and that I do it out of care and a desire to truthfully communicate, as well as a kind of talking therapy.
Non-friends (even those I've known for ages) should realize that honesty is not weakness, failure is not defeat, illness means you're not dead yet, and I remain apathetic toward any opinion uninformed by love, so keep reading if you must, but eat shit anyhow.

Onward we go. This should save a lot of explaining when I finally write people back. Just hafta send a link to this entry and that's that.
The blog and its author will now return to active duty.
Shout Hallelujah, c'mon get happy.