Author: fightmasterwrites

At the shrine of friendship, never say die. Let the wine of friendship never run dry

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I wrote the body of this post in May of 2021. It was only posted on Facebook. I’ve been trying to find it for a year now, and it finally popped up in my memories.

About three months before my writing career really kicked off, I’d just opened a new restaurant, something I’m on the fence about ever doing again.

We opened about 10 days before the mask mandate was lifted, along with the need for spacing tables for safety.

In fact, someone called the police on us because they felt that we were seating people too close. Life in the time of Covid.

The opening was a success.

We went from 0 to 100 in about 14 days. Business couldn’t have been better. We were short staffed. I only had one manager, me. And it was a zoo. But we were making money, and that was what counted.

Now for the post from 2021.

My new restaurant just finished week three.

It’s a very big success and we are doing quite well. Through continuous conversations with guests, it often comes up that I moved from NYC, and in a previous life I was a theatrical lighting designer.

A pretty good one at that.

I’m often asked how I got from designing lights to restaurant manager.

Well.

Fun fact.

In grad school, while obtaining my MFA at the University of California, San Diego, one of the best theatre schools in the country, I ran a very successful bar out of my office.

I hosted happy hour every Friday for two years, from 4:00 to close.

Which was sometimes 5:00. But more often 1:00 or 2:00 am. And at least a couple of times, the sun was coming up when we all wrapped up the evening.

I’d often open up for days that were stressful, when we needed a little boost to get through the long days and nights. My mentor Chris Parry, would sneak down on Tuesdays and ask for a gin and tonic.

My regulars included classmates, and unofficially our staff and professors who always pretended they weren’t there. Including the chair of the program.

We also had alumni, guest artists, friends, and strangers.

The crowd could be two people if everyone was in rehearsal.

Sometimes it didn’t even include me if I was teching a show.

Sometimes there might be 30 plus people.

We also had glass bar ware and nothing but top shelf booze.

Bombay Sapphire was our gin of choice. Just ask Sarah EC Maines?

We were also known to deliver at least once during tech. Usually during a 10 out of 12. (A 10 out 12 is when you rehearse a show, with the entire team, including actors for 10 hours in a 12 hour block of time).

We’d take orders and bring all the designers and stage managers their favorites.

It’s also because of these deliveries I now drink bourbon. I got sick during tech for my thesis show, and my classmates kept my Diet Coke cup spiked with bourbon as I couldn’t talk and felt like shit. It got me through 8 days of tech and the show looked great.

I also managed to keep the inventory stocked and the fridge full by charging just two dollars per drink. We had an honor system and house accounts for those of us who ran short at the end of the month.

I was a just as proud of doing this as I was the design work I produced while a student.

When I graduated, my cocktail hour was as much a part of my legacy as my design work.

On the day of graduation, I had a cooler stashed off stage. There were about 25 people who graduated in the department graduation. As we were presented our fake diplomas, we were offered the chance to say a few words.

As long as we kept it short.

I started my speech by saying that I’d spent countless hours, and thousands of dollars to be here today, so I’m going to go a little over my time limit. I spoke for about 15 minutes with bullet points on a piece of paper. This was before I-phones so there is no recording, but I was told it was a good speech.

At the beginning of the speech, my friends Tom and Anjee, pulled the cooler out, and together, we distributed Coronas to all the graduates and professors.

At the end of my speech, I popped the top off my own Corona and toasted the team. I was nearly in tears when I finished.

I miss doing design work.

But I like my life in Maine more.

I’ve said a million times that my studies in California made me the person I am today.

My patience.

My ability to see the big picture.

My ability to deal with different types of people.

My ability to know just how much to dim the lights for dinner. And explaining to owners that they indeed needed to spend money on lights that produced amber light AND NOT fluorescent white light.

My ability to not to stab someone in the eye with a fork.

My ability to train new staff.

All of this is an extension of UCSD.

While I haven’t designed lights in a hot minute, my three years were life changing.

So, a big shout out to Mark Maltby for not shutting me down!

And know that I’m forever grateful for my time in California.

And that’s how I went from being a lighting designer to being a general manager.

I posted this, three years ago, and got a few comments. I want to include it in my archives, so that when I write my book it can be included.

And.

I am doing a show in a week. The first since 2014. Small. But I’ll write about that separately.

It’s gotta happen, happen sometime. Maybe this time, I’ll win

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Was I wrong?  

Tonight, I actually asked to speak to the manager.  

Adam and I sometimes have chicken Caesar salads.  

And we discovered a while back, that it’s easier to pick up Popeye’s chicken than it is to cook our own.  

Adam suggested salads tonight, and so drove to the Popeye’s out by the mall to pick up chicken.  

I ordered the chicken.  Get to the window and pay for the chicken.

I’m handed my chicken. 

At this point, I remember that I forgot to order a biscuit for Adam.  

I ask the guy at the window to buy a window.  

He tells me that I need to drive around, get in line, and order again.

I say seriously?

He says yes.

I say, seriously?

He says yes?

I ask to the speak to the manager.

He comes to the window, says, 1 buscuit?  

I say yes, he says that will be $1.50.

I give him the money. 

He gives me the biscuit.

The whole exchange took 90 seconds.  

So here is the question…

Was I wrong for not driving around.

Or was it silly for them to ask me to drive around for a 90 second transaction.  

Meanwhile, I have an appointment to get my hair frosted and cut into a Karen cut tomorrow.  

The fact that I’m special is easy to see, so why doesn’t anybody see it but me?

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I was up super early this morning. Well early for me.

Out of bed at 8:15.

I had a meeting about a small show that I’m working on, then met a friend for coffee, then off to grab a soda, head to work, then home for dinner.

The point is that I was in my car more than usual today.

And.

Three times today, I had people step in front of my car as I drove down a street.

Three times with little to no regard for who had the right of way, or that they were blocking traffic.

The first time, a woman got out of her car, with friends, stepped into the middle of the street, and then began to fix her hair. She is literally bent over, dealing with her hair, eventually tying it back, in the middle of the street blocking traffic.

Another couple walked their 2 year-old across the street, diagonally, 100 feet from the nearest crosswalk. The 2-year-old walked exactly as fast as you’d expect a 2 year-old to walk. Traffic stopped in both directions waiting for them to cross.

Then on my way home, a foursome parked, got out of their car, with all the doors open, on a narrow street, and with no regard, blocked the street while they gathered up their groceries.

It made me realize that I’m glad I’m not a me, me, me person, however, I sometimes wish I had the balls that other people have.

You know the people who walk in to an empty restaurant at 2 minutes till close and have a 3-course meal.

The people who run into a grocery store at 2 minutes till close, and do their week’s shopping.

The passenger who takes up all the space in a luggage bin.

The person in line at Best Buy, who cuts the line because their return is more important than mine.

I’ve always been aware of the space that I take up.

I absolutely, would not go into an empty restaurant and have dinner at the end of the night.

I’m super self-conscience of being the last table at the end of the night. And I tip extra when it happens.

I tend to not be pushy. I tend to not take up any more space than I have to.

So where does this come from.

The lack of consideration for others?

Is it nature or nurture.

Is it how you are brought up?

Is it your socio-economic status?

Is it based on gender?

Is it a gay/straight things?

Is it family size?

Is it the geographic?

Is it based on age?

What makes some people less concerned about the space they take up.

The inconvenience they impart on others.

And more importantly, do they just not care how much it makes someone in the service industry hate them?

I don’t expect to gain any insight with this post.

Just an observation today.

Thoughts?

We’re following every star-There’s not enough time!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

How the hell did it get to be the end of May already.

Memorial Day weekend is next weekend.

The official kickoff to summer.

The official kickoff to tourist season in Maine.

Like the cicadass, the rich folks from Florida are awakening from their 7 months slumber, and migrating to the northeast.

We are made aware of this by the uptick in business at both mine and Adam’s restaurants. It’s funny, because the change is actually not overnight. It’s more gradual than you’d think. Adding 5% to 10% more business every week or so, until we get to the middle of June when it’s full tilt.

Straight out.

I can say that so far, except for tonight, the guests at my restaurant, are so much sweeter than they were in Kennebunkport. The level of privilege. The level of assholery is so much better.

That being said, mine and Adam’s schedules are quickly changing.

We’ve gone from dinner together most nights to dinner a couple of times a week.

We’ve gone from TV at home, together, four or five nights a week, to being exhausted at the end of the day and going to bed early.

As we have for the past two summers, we have lots of fun ventures planned for the next four months. We are going back to NYC for a quick trip in June and then again in September, to see favorite shows of ours.

We bought season tickets to The Ogunquit Playhouse and we see our first show there next Wednesday.

We have dinners planned with friends.

We have nights at home on the patio planned.

We find if we do this, it gives us things to look forward to, other than work.

We are very lucky though, that my new schedule is MUCH more flexible, with me being able to schedule my days off around the rest of the team.

It also means that I’m home most nights and in bed by midnight.

Believe it or not.

It also means, that we are up around the same time and are not going days at a time without a hug, or smile, or a quick conversation.

I consider myself very lucky for the new job, the new drive, and the new situation.

I’m still working on when to write though. I’m not a get up and write at 6:00 a.m. person, like so many of my writer friends. And I’m often exhausted when I come home. I used to write when I got home from work, but now I’m home earlier and actually get to spend time with my bf.

It truly is a work in progress.

I do miss the creative outlet. I miss the built-in therapy. I miss the connection with my friends.

So creative friends when do you do these things? When do you write? Paint? Play the piano? Garden? Ride horses?

I’ll look forward to your comments.

Maybe it’s not the moon at all, I hear Spike Lee’s shooting down the street

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I was just starting to write a post about work tonight, when there was a knock on the front door.

It’s 10:00. AT NIGHT.

NO ONE knocks on our door at 10:00 at night.

It takes a second for it to register what is actually happening.

I think for a second that Adam has knocked something on the floor.

Adam is asleep on the couch as I get up to answer the door.

I discover that it’s our next-door neighbor Jill.

She apologizes, says she saw the TV on and us sitting in the living room.

We don’t have blinds on our windows. We sit in a fish bowl. She clearly could see we were awake.

She very excitedly says, you have to come outside and look at the sky. You can see the Northern Lights. She goes on saying it’s never this far south and as a Mainer has never seen them before.

Adam gets up and we both go outside.

It a clear night, it’s cold, and the sky is beautiful.

Our neighbors from next door, and diagonally across the street are standing in the street.

It takes a few minutes, but you can see streaks of light across the sky.

It was not the beautiful greens and amber that you see in photos but there is definitely light pulsing through the sky.

We stood outside for about 20 minutes until we both were freezing.

Have I mentioned that the heat is still on in our house on the 9th day of May?

It was very moving and beautiful.

I’m going to go back out while Adam is showering for bed.

I’ll keep you posted on what I see.

He was tall, very tall, and his eyes were clear and blue.

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’d like to speak to the manager!!!

For anyone just tuning in, you might not know that Adam and I see a lot of theater. It’s one of the things that we bonded over when we first met.

We both have theater backgrounds, me a lighting designer, him an actor. We both have degrees in the theater, and it’s been a life-long passion for both of us, even though neither of us is involved with actively producing shows today.

As a result of us seeing theater, we visit a LOT of different facilities.
Everything from local productions, to touring houses, regional theaters, and of course Broadway.

As a result of these visits, I’d like to ask that we stop forcing people to sit in theater seats that were designed for humans in 1914.

I’m chubby, so side to side, I’m big. I’m not surprised when a chair is tight.

However.

From top to bottom I’m only 6’0”. This is above average, I know, but it’s not outrageous.

Thing is,I don’t fit in most theater seats in older theaters.

My knees are either buried in the seat in front of me.

Or

I have to sit in some weird angled situation to get my legs out of the way.

At one show last week, a woman apologized because her knees were in my head, saying that she was tall at 5’11”.

Truth is I’ve started noticing this more over the past three years, because unfortunately, even after surgery, I can’t tuck myself into a ball to force myself into the chair.

Right before surgery, there were times where the pain was so bad, from how I had to sit, that I couldn’t enjoy the show.

The first time I saw, Some Like It Hot, I could barely have told you the plot. It was to this day, the most painful seating situation ever.

Adam and I have notes saved on each theater we visit, about how the seats were and did we fit.

I know it will be expensive to fix this problem, but we as humans are getting taller not shorter.

I also know this is a luxury problem, and I’m privileged to see theater in the first place.

I truly don’t expect to have this fixed. It’s mostly me sharing my experience in NYC.

I will say, that when I was in Argentina a year ago, we visited the Opera House, and the original chairs were still in use. They must have been built for super fancy dresses, because they were the roomies chairs I’d ever seen in a historic theater.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Food Glorious Food!!!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Our trip to NYC this trip was unlike many of the others.  

We saw more shows.  

We had lunch out most days instead of dinner.  

And this brings me to lunch on Thursday.  

It was an experience to last a lifetime.  

We dined at Le Bernardin. 

Le Bernardin is a 3-star Michelin restaurant.  Voted number 1 restaurant in NYC over and over.  And is 26th on restaurants world-wide.  

Adam made the reservations a while ago, as soon as they became available on the day we wanted to go. Lunch on a Thursday, so that we’d have nowhere to be.  

We arrived last Thursday, right at 12:15, the time of our reservation.  It feels silly, now that the experience is behind us, but we both felt a little nervous.  

We are both in the business.  We dine out a lot.  

But there’s a nice lunch, and then there’s A NICE lunch.  

I was afraid I was underdressed, as I was not wearing a jacket.  But alas, I was not the only jacket free person in the dining room.  

We arrived, and from the moment we sat down, we knew the experience was going to be special.  

Unlike anything we’d ever done before.  

We were led to our table, where the chairs were pulled out for us.  The settings were exquisite.  And everyone exuded hospitality, from the host who sat us, to the sommelier, to the person, who kept clearing our plates, and bringing us new ones.  

I joked after the fact that we were given plates twice that we never used.  The initial place setting was taken away, as soon as we ordered bubbles to start.  The plate that replaced it was taken away, just before the bread was delivered to the table.  

The bubbles were delivered promptly, we were asked if we were doing the tasting menu, or ala carte.  We chose the tasting menu, and looking around the dining room we were the only guests doing so.  We also chose the wine pairings as well. 

We sipped bubbles and snacked on salmon rillettes.    

And soon we were off. 

Tuna-Urchin

Tuna-Tartare-Sea Urchin Toast; Jus de Viande

Albariño, Leirana, Rodrigo Mendez, Rías Baixas, Spain 2022

Langoustine

Seared Langoustine; Foie Gras-Cabbage Confit, Truffled Consommé

Riesling, Van Volxem, Wiltinger Ortswein, Saar, Germany 2021

Japanese Madai

Baked Madai; Fennel-Olive and Citrus Medley

Sauce Barigoule

Palomino Fino, Bodegas Luis Pérez, La Escribana, Andalucia, Spain 2022

Salmon-Caviar

Slowy Baked Salmon; Royal Osetra Caviar, Horseradish Emulsion

Bollinger, La Grande Année, Aÿ, Brut, Champagne, France 2014

Dover Sole

Pan Roasted Dover Sole; Green Olives, Toasted Almonds

Aged Sherry Wine Emulsion

Chardonnay, Evening Land Vineyards, Seven Springs, Willamette Valley, Oregon 2022

Halibut

Steamed Halibut; Baby Spring Vegetables

Red Wine Nage

Clos du Roi, Beaune Premier Cru, Domaine Chanson, Burgundy, France 2020

Rhubarb

Poached Rhubarb, Vanilla-Scented Chantilly

Bugey-Cerdon, La Cueille, Patrick Bottex, Savoie, France NV

Peruvian Dark Chocolate

Warm Peruvian Chocolate Tart, Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream

Taylor Fladgate, 20 Year Tawny, Portugal

Each dish was better than the next.

The pacing was perfect.   Plates dropped.  Plates cleared.  

New glasses dropped at the table.  They left the old ones for a while, so for about 30 minutes it looked as though we’d had four glasses of wine each.  

The sommelier would stop by, describe the wine, pour two glasses and move on.   

We didn’t take a lot of photos because we didn’t want to appear to be THOSE people.  

But Adam did snap a few photos, and we had one of the server assistants take a quick photo of us.  

In all we were there for three hours, although it felt like about 90 minutes. 

The other thing that was interesting, was that the food was all approachable.  There was nothing weird, or outrageous that made you go yuck.   It was all delicious and prepared wonderfully.  

It’s not a meal we’ll repeat again, anytime soon.  

But I will look forward to the day that we do. 

PS.  It was interesting, looking around the dining room.  We got the feeling that most everyone there was just out for lunch on a Thursday.  There were business meetings going on.  20 somethings just going about their business.  For most of our fellow diners I really don’t think it was a special occasion.

  

If I can make it there….

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Hi.  

I lied.  

I didn’t post in NYC.  I brought my computer.  But I didn’t take it out of the bag once.  

I was having too much fun, and was exhausted when I got home every night.  

However, the fog seems to have lifted.  

It was gone by the time we crossed into Manhattan last Monday.  

Last week was a whirlwind. 

11 shows in 7 days.  

Lots of great meals.  

One fucking amazing meal. 

Lots of great walks.  I’m very grateful for my new knee.  

One of the best afternoons I had was sitting in Central Park, people watching.  And by people watching, I mean watching shirtless boys jog by.    

It really was a great week. 

As for the shows.

They all had merit, and in case you haven’t noticed in the 15 years I’ve been posting about theater, I rarely ever tell you a show is bad.  Too many people, work too hard, for me to post publicly that it’s not worth seeing. 

That being said.

Hell’s Kitchen.  Wonderful.  Those actors sang their asses off, and the voices.  Amazing.  We saw it the day the Tony’s were announced so there was a special energy in the room.  I actually made Adam wait by the stage door with me, which I never, ever do.  But then it rained before the leads made their way out.  

The Notebook.  Oh, my goodness. I had never seen the movie, or read the book.  Had no idea what it was about.  I boo hooed through the whole show.  Although.  Not as loudly as the girl sitting next to us.  You’d have thought her mother had just died.  

Mother Play.  Disturbing.  Deep.  So well-acted.  But hard to watch as a gay man.  

Suffs was fun.  And I love that it will have a long, long, long life after NYC in regional theaters, colleges and universities, and it’s only a matter of time till a high school produces it.  

The rest were all fun and I’m glad I saw them.  But these moved me the most.  

It did feel good to pull into the driveway last night though.  

We were glad to be home. 

It was weird driving each way.  When we left yesterday, NYC was in full spring mode.  It was green from the rain on Sunday.  Trees had leaves.  There were annuals in pots on the streets.  

As we drove north, things became less green, until we got to Maine, where the trees have buds on them, but most do NOT have leaves yet.  

We also saw a few famousish people.  

J. Harrison Ghee saw Hell’s Kitchen a few seats down from us. 

Judy Davis sat behind us at lunch.   

LaChanze.  

Micheal Grief.  

Ronnie Larson.  

Patti Lupone was in line with us when we saw Oh Mary.  She sat in the orchestra, we were in the balcony.  

And we saw Rollerena, a NYC personality if there ever was one.  

When you are a New Yorker you don’t bother famous people, and you definitely don’t ask for an autograph or take a photo.  So.  I have no proof of these encounters.  

We also used my friend David’s theory on parking tickets while in the city.  We chose NOT to move our car for alternate side of the street parking.  The first time we did NOT get a ticket.  The second time we did.  It was worth the price of the ticket to not have to pay to park, and to not have to get up and move the car.  

All in all it was a great trip.  

But.  

It feels good to be home. 

I feel better than I did before I left.  

And.  

That’s what I’m most grateful for.  

You’ve got a friend!!!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Thank you all for the very kind and sweet messages. You know how to make a boy feel special.

I felt better today.

Actually I felt better after I posted my story last night.

It does help to talk about it.

It helps a lot.

Best of all, as of 11:06 I’m on vacation. We drive down to nyc tomorrow and are there till next week. I’m hoping for sun, glorious shows and amazing food. And bourbon. Maybe some bourbon.

I’m taking my laptop with me and will keep you up to date on my adventures.

The one thing several people said today that rang true is that talking helps and that they know my writing helps me. They’ve watched it keep me sane for almost three years.

So I’m going to commit to getting back to writing.

Thanks again to everyone who reached out.

I love you all.

When our long night is done, there will be light. There will be light. There will be light.

/ fightmasterwrites / 1 Comment

I’d really, really, really like to speak to the manager!!!

Actually.

I NEED to speak to the manager!!!

Hi.

It’s Jeff.

Remember me.

I’ll get straight to the point.

I miss writing.

I miss it a lot.

I literally write down 6 or 7 ideas in my Notes app every day.

But here’s the thing.

I haven’t been writing.

One post in a month.

And here’s why.

Back when the time the changed my depression kicked in.

I was reminded by Facebook, my blog, and my friends that this is a yearly occurrence.

Only this year it’s not lifting.

For the past month I’ve felt like I was moving in a fog.

Like I’m underwater, swimming, upstream, against a current that is about to go over a falls.

Most days have been like this.

Most people don’t know.

Most days Adam doesn’t know.

That being said, there have been weeks that have been very dark.

Like I’m already over the falls.

And again.

No one knew.

I went to work. I did my job. I was friendly. I was funny. I was outgoing. I led meetings. I solved problems. I made lists. I crossed things off my list.

No one knew.

I came home.

I scooped the litter boxes. I did the dishes. I folded the laundry. I cleaned my office. I sorted the mail. I went to the dump. I took the cans to the redemption center.

No one knew.

And I’d go to bed.

And I’d lie awake, wondering what the point of it all was.

Is.

Here’s the thing.

I’ve dealt with depression my whole life.

Well, since puberty. It really started when I hit 13 or 14. We moved from the neighborhood I grew up in. To a house where the nearest neighbor was not close. Then we moved again, this time to a small, small town, where I was called a f*g on the bus every day for two years till I got my driver’s license.

At this time, my relationship with my parents sucked, for absolutely no reason at all, other than I was not quite what they wanted in a son. I read. I didn’t miss school. I got good grades. I was really a text book pretty decent kid. Not what they wanted.

And the depression started.

And I learned to hide it.

I hid it through high school.

I hit it in college.

I hid it in Atlanta, Kansas City, Cincinnati.

And I continued to hide I couldn’t.

And then it came pouring out, like someone had run over a hydrant.

And for the next few years life pretty much sucked ass.

And very few people knew it.

In 1998, I moved to NYC.

And in the fall of 1999, I was at Marie’s Crisis, a piano bar, singing show tunes. And a cute boy named Mike, caught my eye across the room. The chorus sang out, Suddenly Seymour, as I made my way across the room to introduce myself. I did things like that back then.

And I ended up going home with him.

And we dated for about 6 minutes. Not months. Minutes. I think we went on three dates. Long enough to learn that he made a 110,000 year, he was in marketing and his partner of three years had just died of AIDS.

He was depressed.

I was depressed.

We agreed we were too depressed to date each other.

And one night we chatted about our depression and he suggested I go to his psychiatrist.

Mike and I stayed friends until I left NYC. In fact, I had a fabulous trip to Europe with him and a couple of his other friends in the spring of 2001.

I ended up making an appointment with Mike’s doctor.

And on my third appointment he wrote me a prescription.

He warned me not to go home and read about the medicine on the internet, as the medicine was usually for schizophrenics. I am not schizophrenic.

At this point I didn’t care. I was desperate for help.

I went home.

Took the medicine.

And woke up the next day a new man.

Seriously.

It was that fast.

It didn’t fix the problems, but the depression lifted.

I felt human.

I continued to see this doctor until I left NYC for therapy and drugs. He didn’t take insurance. Had a fifth avenue office, and my weekly visits cost more than my rent.

But I wasn’t depressed.

You hear of people selling their bodies for drugs. I would have sold my body for these drugs.

I was on a cocktail of three little pills that changed my life.

When I left NYC, I had a recommendation for a doctor in Maine. I saw him until he retired 8 years ago. At one visit he essentially told me I was cured. My visits were always the same.

Life is good. Life with Adam is good. My job is good. My home life is good. The cats are good.

Month after month after month after month.

The same.

Until my mom died.

I held it together for the cancer. And the funeral. And the clearing of the house.

And about four months later, it got dark.

I went to a new doctor and they said, relax, you are normal. This is called grief. Give it time.

And I did.

And it lifted.

And now for what is 24 years, I’ve been on the same cocktail of drugs.

Three little pills kept me normal.

Until March of this year.

The time changed and I changed.

And I got depressed.

And it has not lifted.

I’m in a fog.

I’m swimming.

Well actually sometimes it feels more like drowning than swimming.

And no one knows.

And I wouldn’t be writing this at all, except, Adam went to bed early and I’ve had a cocktail, and the fog is there, but I kept myself busy tonight and it’s the best I’ve felt in a bit.

But still there’s fog.

Still, I’m underwater.

I learned a lot in therapy in NYC.

I learned that the depression always lifts.

And that’s always been true.

This year is starting to feel a bit different.

I also learned that to talk about it takes the magic out of it.

No one knows.

No one knows.

No one knows.

Until you tell them.

So, I’ve told a few people.

And now I’m telling you.

I need to find a way out of this.

Tonight, a friend told me I needed a hobby. So instead of driving around after work, which I’m wont to do, I came home and started scanning. There’s more to come from where those came from.

I’m on vacation starting Monday. But for the first time in a bit, I’m not excited about it.

We are going to NYC to see an amazing array of shows, but I feel like it’s going to work. I’m hoping that once we are in the car headed south, that the sun will start to shine.

And the fog will lift.

Until then.

I need to talk about it.

So, I’m telling you.

And you know what.

As a white, American, man in his late 50’s it’s hard to ask for help.

We are taught that asking for help is a sign of weakness.

That only weak sissy men ask for help.

I’m not a weak sissy man…

But…

I need some help.

I wish I could tell you what that looked like.

But I can’t.

But if you could send some good thoughts my way, until this bullshit lifts I’d appreciate it.

Edit: I just posted this and the thing is there is no reason for the depression. Adam and I are fine. I have a job I really like. Our home is great. The cats are great. There is NO reason to feel the way I do. Which is the reason it sucks. I can get behind depression when someone dies, or dumps you, or fires you. But this. NO BUENO.