Decisions, Pride, and a Drop of the Pure (And Only a Drop!)

So yeah, I think I've made the decision to try and just keep the apartment on my own.  That may be easier said than done, but the truth is, I really don't want to share it with someone else right now.  I've almost always lived with other people, rarely on my own.  So maybe this would be a good time to do that.  It'll be tight, and almost certainly involve a second job, but I think it'll be worth it.  I've got the cat for company, and a place to entertain friends if I so choose.  And as much as I can, I'm trying to turn a negative into a positive.  And I'm buying a few extra scratch tickets too...

Tonight is my daughter's Senior vocal recital.  Most years, recitals involve literally dozens of kids of varying levels singing or playing the piano.  This time around, it's just her and another girl and their instructor.  Recitals can be torturous, because you've got to be there for at least two hours, and really, I'm only interested in seeing one person.  I'm not saying everyone else is bad, but come on, MY little snowflake is way more important to me than yours.  So she'll be doing about ten songs tonight, and one or two duets with the other girl and her instructor.  I predict this will be right at the top of my favorite concerts of the year.  Yes, even better than Me First and the Gimme Gimmes at the Paradise.

Still no idea if I'm drumming or whistling tomorrow night with the Gobshites at Finnegan's in Hudson, Mass.  One thing I wont be doing is drinking all that much.  We're going up to visit Salem State University on Sunday morning, and leaving around 7AM.  No way I'd be able to do that with a snoot full.  I'm trying to pull back on that now anyway, as I'm getting dangerously close to the red zone with alcohol.  So if I can manage to tone it way down at a Gobshites show, I can pretty much do it anywhere (as anyone who's ever been to see us can attest).  Anyone who sees me drinking more than three beers tomorrow night has my permission to yell at me.

Checking In and Stuff and Things and...

So as of the other day, I'm down 30 pounds now.  My clothes are starting to look baggy, which is not a bad problem to have, but I need to go clothes shopping soon.  I have a feeling my Kohl's charge is going to get quite a workout.  I also might need to get a second job.  I haven't been able to find a new roommate yet, so I'm going to be on the hook for the full amount of the rent starting next month.  The upside is that I can finally get rid of my storage space, which will free up a couple hundred bucks a month.  And maybe I can sell off some of the books, comics, and old vynyl that I have in there, which would help too.  I think I can do it.  I really don't have much choice.  So if anyone out there wants to pay me money a couple nights a week to do something not very strenuous, I'm available.

I only briefly wrote about my debut as a lead singer last weekend.  I have to say, I had a blast doing that.  I think it helped that it was at a loft party, and not in a club setting.  Everyone there was there to have a good time and party, so the atmosphere was pretty loose.  Nobody even cared when I forgot some of the lyrics and had to refer to the sheets I brought up with me.  Like taking up the tin whistle, it's something that takes me far out of my comfort zone, even though I know I can sing well.  People are often shocked to find that, off stage, I'm pretty shy and reserved for the most part, because I'm pretty animated on stage, and singing was no different.  I hope we do some more shows.  And settle on a name.

Gobshites will be at Finnegan's Pub in Hudson, Mass this Saturday.  9 P.M. start.  Bring your dancing shoes and your drinking socks.  I don't know if I'm on drums or whistle yet, so I'm bringing everything.

Ice Dreams

I was about five years old, walking around in the store with my mom, when I spotted a poster of the 1970 Stanley Cup Champion Boston Bruins behind the counter.  I begged my mother to buy one for me, pleaded.  The storekeeper, thinking he was going to help my mother out and shut me up, told me that if I could name all the players, he'd give it to me.

"Okay, that's Bobby Orr, Dallas Smith, Ed Johnston, Derek Sanderson, Gary Doak, Wayne Cashman, Gerry Cheevers..."

That poster hung in my bedroom for years.

Hockey was a huge part of my life growing up.  The success of the late 60's-early 70's Bruins spawned a youth hockey boom in Massachusetts (and elsewhere), and almost every town in my area had a program.  Every Saturday morning, we were on our way to Rockland or Taunton or Brockton to either practice, scrimmage, or play another town.  In the summers, hockey camp.  Or street hockey.  When the temperatures dropped and the ponds froze, there we went.  Everyone I knew played.  I was a decent player, a very good skater, but not particularly aggressive.  I was a fair defenseman, not much of a forward, but a great goaltender.

As I got older, the boom died down, and my own interests tended towards more creative pursuits (music, writing, theater), and I gave up hockey.  I briefly considered going out for my high school team, but decided against it.  It wasn't until my later years in college that I got the hockey bug again.  My dad and I started going to Providence Bruins games, and following Boston once more.  I got a pair of skates, a stick, some gloves, and a helmet (although I only went out and played once or twice).  I even got a subscription to the Hockey News for a few years.

For the past few years, my mother has given me and my dad Bruins tickets for Christmas.  We go to three games a year.  I guess it's a bonding thing, as my father and I weren't particularly close for a long time.  I often wonder if my turning away from hockey (and sports in general) was some form of rebellion against him.  Maybe, maybe not.  I don't know.

I haven't laced up the skates in a few years, but maybe this year sometime I'll hit up a rink around here somewhere.  Until then, I'll be parked in front of the TV for Bruins games.  I think this is the year for them.  Again.

A Post About...Um...

Yeah, I'm kind of drawing a blank here.  I know I need to do this as much as I can, if for no other reason than to keep my writing skills sharp and assure everyone that I haven't dropped back into the black hole.  But man, if only I had something to say today.  I even went online and did a search for blog post ideas.  Every page had vague suggestions like "Take a stand on an issue," or "Write something humorous."  Great, thanks for the advice, oh wise and sage blog gurus.  My mind is now absolutely brimming with inspiration.

I guess all writers get like this at times, so I know I'm not unique in having "The Block."  It's frustrating, but whatever.  My weekend was...good.  Lot's of fun activity Friday (see last post), some more on Saturday, and then a lazy boring Sunday filled with errands and chores and lot's of TV watching with the cat.  I can tell you that I watched my daughter take part in her last High School Show Choir competition on Saturday night, and the kids blew the roof off the place and won best vocals, best show, best instrumental, and Grand Champion.  She's got her Senior vocal recital this Friday night, and I'm really looking forward to that.  She's a supremely talented kid.  I know I'm supposed to say stuff like that because I'm her dad, but even people who aren't obligated to gush over her tell me that.

My side band still doesn't really have a name.  Then again, who knows when we're going to play another show?  So I guess it's not really all that urgent.  I'm alternating between drums and whistle with the Gobshites lately.  And I'm kind of fixated on saving up for either a mandolin or a banjo.  But first I have to refurnish my apartment.  I did manage to score a new kitchen table and chairs (well, new to me).  So there's that.

Pretty boring, I know.  At least it's not about going to the hospital again.  Because that would mean I'd have had to go to the hospital, and I've done that plenty lately, thank you very much.

Mahalo.  And Excelsior!

Another First

Last night, I made my debut as the front man in a band.  I've been singing since I can remember, but this is the first time I've ever been a lead singer.  I'm not leaving the Gobshites, mind you, but this was something that sort of came together organically.  It's fun, and hopefully we'll play some more shows, but it's really more of a side project for most of us in the band.  We don't really even have a name yet.  I introduced us as the "Next Band" last night.  It's another Celtic influenced punk band, but more electric than the Gobshites.  There's some crossover, but it's really two different bands.  We did okay on Friday, I couldn't hear myself at all, but people said they liked it.

Jesse Winchester Sums It All Up

From Late Night Music Club, via Crooks and Liars:

Return of the Son of Stuff and Things

I think I may finally have found my sleep cocktail.  Last night, I took .5 mg of Ativan and 3 mg of Melatonin, and it seemed to work pretty well.  Finally!  Although the cat mewling at my door at 6 A.M. kinda ruined some of it, so I'm a little groggy for not getting the full night in.  But I think I'll keep trying this and see where that gets me.

Also, as of this morning, I'm down to 183 pounds.  That's 29 pounds down since December.  I had platteaued a bit, and even gained some back over Shamrockfest weekend, but I'm back on track and closer to my goal.  Actually, I don't really have a goal, I just want to be happy with where I am.  So far, I am, but I know I could do better.  And now that the St. Paddy's craziness is more or less over, I can get back to a regular gym routine.

The Prozac seems to have hit it's stride.  I definitely feel a lot clearer than I have in a while.  Now to see if any of the possible side effects rears it's ugly head.  I hope not, but I'm sure there's a way to deal with it if it does.  Hell, you'd think between two therapists and a physician, we could put our heads together and figure something out.  Better living through chemistry.

Still on the lookout for a CBT therapist.  The one my Psychiatrist recommended has a full dance card right now, so it's down the list I go.

Other than that?  Work, music, daughter, cat (not necessarily in that order).  And I'm seriously thinking about buying a mandolin when the funds allow.  Or a banjo.  That about covers it.  Oh, and the occasional meal.

Ink Me

My first tattoo happened live on the air when I was a producer at WRKO.  Tattooing wasn't yet legal in Massachusetts, so we took our show up to Salem, New Hampshire, to a place called Dragon's Lair, run by the fabulous Jamey Proctor.  I got a radio microphone on my left bicep. 

I've been out of radio for 12 years now.  Alas, maybe I should get a screenshot of my low bank balance on my back or something.

But it was something I'd wanted to do for years.  I had a lot of friends who had tattoos, and even went to a couple of tattoo parties.  Unfortunately, finances got in the way.  Also, I really didn't know what I wanted to get.  So I waited for many years to get my first.  And it's true what they say, they're addictive.  I have five now, all in anatomically appropriate places (all on my arms, actually), and I want more.

My second one came a year later, again courtesy of the Reverend Proctor.  It was a Spiderman image that I'd seen on the cover of Wizard magazine.  Aside from the comic book geekishness of it, it was also a tribute to a man who, when I first started reading as a child, gave me all kinds of thrills to feast my mind on.  My parents instilled in me a love of reading, but Stan Lee was my main source for many years (along with Twain, Matt Christopher, Donald J. Sobol, Judy Blume, and others).

And that was it for a while.  I wanted to get more, had a few ideas on what they might be, but lost contact with Jamey and got into other things.  After I joined the Gobshites, I managed to get in touch with him again, and he invited me up anytime to get some new ink.  As I was now the tin whistle player in an Irish punk band, I decided a whistle would be appropriate.  He did that, and then free handed an amazing swirl pattern with negative space shamrocks around it.  It's definitely a conversation piece.

My next piece is the only tattoo I have that wasn't done by Jamey, a claddagh armband that I got as a Christmas present in 2009.  That was done by Pea Jay at Body Extremes in Quincy, Mass.  It was a spur of the moment decision that day to go down and get tattoos, but he did a great job, and I've always been happy with it.

And then finally (for now), once again from Jamey, I got a Celtic harp design on my right forearm.  This was actually a piece of flash that I found online and fell in love with, and Jamey did it proud.  And you can see examples of the three most recent tattoos on my Facebook page, if you're so inclined.

So I went to a tattoo party at a friend's house this weekend, and although finances once again kept me from getting a new one (I did try to barter with the artist, offering to cook her dinners and such, but to no avail), I'm itching to get more.  I have a few ideas for tattoos, now I just need to wait until my discretionary funds allow it.

Anyone out there want to barter?

I Love A Parade

Just wanted to share this.  We were in the South Boston St. Patrick's Day parade again this year, and it was an absolute blast.  Here's a clip of us from the NECN telecast:



I'm on the opposite side of the float from the camera, but I was savvy enough to get me a little screen time too!

Great Expectations



Honest to God, I thought I'd own a house by now.  What I have is a two bedroom apartment and a cat.  I don't mind apartment living so much, really.  But that whole American dream thing of home ownership never left me, I guess.  I also thought I'd be making a lot more money doing something a lot more interesting than what I do all day.

*sigh*

I guess I get caught up all too often in what didn't happen for me, and wondering why.  There are so many things I wish I could do over again, but would any of them have made a difference?  Or would I still be where I am, wishing things were better, or easier, just once?

Just once, I'd like to not have to see the "Check Engine" light going on in my car because I have plenty of money to fix whatever the hell is wrong.

Just once, I'd like to not have to look at my books, CDs, DVDs, etcetera, and wonder "How much can I get for this?"

Just once, I'd like to not have people around me feel the need to say "It's okay, you'll get through this."

Just once, I'd like to feel like my life is stable and comfortable.  Like I'm not starting all over again.

Just once.

Kind of a downer today, sorry.  I swear I'm trying not to do that as much.

That Was the Week That Was...

As you might imagine, an Irish band tends to get busy in March.  This last week was a whirlwind, from Washington, D.C. to Boston to Lebanon, New Hampshire to Mount Snow in Vermont to Portland, Maine to Cambridge, Mass and then to South Boston for the St. Patrick's Day parade, with a private house party somewhere in there for good measure.  I think it's safe to say that the amount of Guinness consumed in the last nine days would have quenched the thirst of Australia.  I'll take responsibility for Brisbane.  Forget college hoops, the Gobshites are the real March Madness.

And yet, as of this morning, I'm down to 184 pounds.  Seems kind of incredible, given all the debauchery.  But then again I have been getting my aerobic workouts in courtesy of the drum kit, so I guess everything sort of evens out.

Nothing new to report on the depression/ADHD/medication front, as everything seems to be working as intended, and I'm looking into the CBT thing.  And even though I am saddened by recent events in my life, I have an incredible network of family and friends offering me all the love and support that they can.  I've even made one or two new friends in the last couple of weeks that have stepped up and been fantastic.  My spirits were further bouyed this weekend when my daughter's financial aid package came through.  With the exception of one small loan, she's got enough in grants and scholarships to pay for the full year, housing included.  That is a HUGE weight off my mind.

So, doing, being, working, playing, living.  It's all I can do right now.

Happy Belated Pi Day

Appropos of nothing, I just thought this was kinda neat...

CBT And Me

So my doctor thinks I'd benefit from Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.  I've been reading up online, and it seems interesting.  I definitely think I have a pattern of thinking, whether shaped by experience or bad wiring or both, that tends to lead me down some dark roads.  The scary thing is, sometimes those dark roads are a comfort to me.  I don't like that.  I do think sometimes we have to embrace our dark thoughts, if only to admit they're there and then put them away.  Immersing yourself in them isn't healthy (obviously), but neither is ignoring them.

So can I be taught to think differently about things?  To notice patterns in my thinking?  I don't know.  I'll be 42 this year, and some of that stuff seems pretty deep-seeded to me.  I don't want to seem resistant to a new approach, but how will I react when I'm told to rethink everything?  The big problem with my latest stretch of depression is that I never even saw it coming, and I think it may be because I'm just used to that feeling.  Will my ADHD interfere with my ability to recognize the patterns?

Is there anyone out there that's gone through this?  Or do you know someone who did?  Did it work for you/them?  Like I said, I'm not opposed to trying it, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure this darkness doesn't come back.  But it's still scary to think that my darkness may be more attractive to me at times than the way out of it.  I'm confident that I'll opt for the way out, of course.

Shamrocked

Well it seems like the new dosage and regimen is working.  The jittery feeling doesn't last as long as it did at first, and the three-times-a-day Ativan is helping to smooth out the rough edges.  I gained a couple pounds back this weekend, but that's perfectly understandable when you're spending the weekend on the road with a band.  Food choices at a music festival tend not to be of the health conscious variety.  When your choices are a basket of chicken fingers, a fried turkey leg, and a "Meat Sundae", you just gotta roll the dice and hope for the best.

Shamrockfest was an unqualified success, as far as I'm concerned.  Last time we were there, we had to leave right after our set, so we could make it back in time for the South Boston St. Patrick's Day Parade.  This year, the parade is the Sunday after St. Paddy's, so we could hang out for the whole thing, and I'm sure glad we did.  We got to play two sets this year.  First was the Guinness stage, where we were first band up.  This time, they opened the gates about a half hour before we went on, so we had a decent crowd from start to finish.  Then we went over to the Irish Village stage, where the crowd was absolutely huge.  Both times we had great sets and the folks seemed to enjoy the hell out of it.

And then there was the hanging out and schmoozing.  We got to see a lot of folks we don't get a chance to all that often.  Friends from the area, other bands like Icewagon Flu, Scythian, Pubcrawlers, and of course, Dropkick Murphy's.  Ken was very gracious and invited us to come down to the grand opening of Whiskey Republic in Providence tonight.  Alas, we're playing a private show at the Paradise in Boston.

After the fest, we were whisked away to The Mighty Pint, a bar in downtown D.C. where we were assured "Gobshites don't pay for nothin'."  They were right, we didn't.  Thanks guys.

So yeah, a minor setback with the weight, but the meds are doing their job, and a fun weekend was had by all.  This being St. Paddy's week, we're about the get really busy, and more tales will be told, you can bet.

Jittery, But Thinner

That's how I feel today, jittery.  After my most recent panic attack (that makes three in two weeks), my doctor suggested I double my Prozac dosage, and go on a regular schedule for Ativan.  So I started that yesterday, and now I feel jittery.  And edgy.  I really wish I didn't feel like this.  Hopefully it evens out soon.

On the plus side, I'm down to 186 pounds.  That's 26 pounds lost since December.  Pretty good when you consider I haven't been able to keep a regular gym schedule the last two weeks.  Still watching my food choices and water intake, so that's obviously helping.  I'll never have washboard abs, but I've long since made my peace with that.

Also, the last two nights have been much better, sleep-wise.  Taking an Ativan before bed definitely makes a difference. Thank Jeebus, because adding insomnia to everything else I'm dealing with right now would just be intollerable.  Tightness in my chest is one thing, but bags under my eyes?  Check, please.

I want to put another plug in for anyone who may possibly be reading this in the Washington, D.C. area (hey, I've got the Netherlands peeking in, so it's not impossible).  The Gobshites are playing Shamrockfest again this year, and you'll have two chances to see us.  To my knowledge, we're the only band pulling a double shift.  I wonder if they'll give us extra drink tickets for that...

The Life of a Rock Star

So you'd figure, after a weekend of playing shows and partying with friends and fans (and a couple of cute NYC cops), and coming home completely spent and exhausted, I'd have slept the sleep of the dead, right?  I mean, I was prepared to do just that, after a quick grocery run and a nice, hot shower.  And after all, it's National Sleep Awareness Week, so I'm pumped for slumber.  Right?

Yeah, not so much.  Is there such a thing as too tired to sleep?  I've heard people say that, but even after a couple of Tylenol PMs, not a wink.  Damn.  I'll give the melatonin one more try tonight, but if it doesn't work, I'm getting something chemical from someone with a scrip pad.

But anyway, the weekend was pretty awesome.  On Saturday, The Gobshites went down to Rockaway Beach for their St. Paddy's Parade, to play in an outside tent next to the Irish Circle pub on Rockaway Boulevard.  Now, playing outdoors on the first weekend of March isn't the best idea, but we did have some friends and new fans come out to see us, so they made it worth it.  There are pictures all over Facebook, if you're interested.

A quick pub crawl through Queens and a nap in a rather nice Comfort Inn later, and we were back on the road, headed straight up to Lawrence, Mass., to play at the Claddagh Pub for their annual after-race show.  This bar is one of my favorites, and not just because they have an actual stage and a professional sound guy.  The place is always, ALWAYS packed, and this year was no exception.  I actually had some family come out for this, and they seemed duly impressed, so, to quote a famous TV star, Winning.

Next weekend, we head down to Washington, D.C. for Shamrockfest.  This is one of the biggest Irish fests in the country, and we did it two years ago with Flogging Molly, Flatfoot 56, and a bunch of other bands.  This year's headliner is Dropkick Murphy's.

I'll also be squeezing in some quality time to see my daughter in her last high school play.  They're doing Beauty and the Beast, and she's the dance captain for the utensils, and a featured dancer.  This kid is way more talented than I ever was.  I can't wait to see what she does in college.

A Whole Week Just For Us!

Hey looky this, there's something called National Sleep Awareness Week, and it starts this Monday.  If you've been reading, you'll know that I'm very aware of sleep, and the lack thereof.  I just found a new favorite website.

Johnny Can't Dance

Well actually, I can.  And quite well, thank you very much.  Just don't feel much like dancing right now, so here's a musical interlude from the best Cajun/Celtic/Eastern European punk band you're ever going to hear.  I bring you...The Zydepunks:

"Huh, Well This Is New..."

The first thing I noticed was the shaking.  Not violent, but like I was vibrating at a very high frequency.  My eyes couldn't focus, my hand could barely hold the pen with which I was writing down pertinent information.  My jaw quivering slightly.  Then there was pressure, in my chest cavity.  Not pain, an aching, slightly working it's way around.  My breathing became labored and forced.  But I was on a call, at work, I knew something was wrong, but I had to keep it together until the call was done.  I hit the "Not Ready" button on my phone in anticipation.

One of my managers came over and asked if I was okay.  I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was a strained, wheezy "I don't know."  She asked if I needed to go outside and get some air.  I stood, and immediately felt woozy and unsteady.  While I held on to the shelf over my desk, she went to get a couple of coworkers to help me downstairs.  More people joined us downstairs, as I sat on a ledge outside, shaking even more for the cold air.  We went back inside, where I sat in a lobby chair, while building security called for an ambulance.  I drank my water while coworkers gave me words of encouragement.  My shaking got worse.

The ride to the hospital was like being a kid, sitting in that way back stowaway seat in an old station wagon.  I remember thinking, as I saw where we'd just been pass us, that this was the way I normally came home from work.  But I wasn't going home.  I was going to the emergency room.  And I wasn't sure what was wrong.  They gave me oxygen and told me to breathe in through my nose and out my mouth.

Being wheeled through the ER, I was given a private room, where they shifted me from the ambulance stretcher to an examination table.  The tightness in my chest was still there, but the doctor said I was merely having an anxiety attack.  No EKG was run, but a few minutes later a woman came in with two small white pills and a cup of water.  Ativan, it was.  After about 20 minutes, I finally started to calm down, and then all I felt was tired.

All told, I was probably in the ER for about an hour or so.  In the meantime, someone at work called my emergency numbers, and my ride was waiting for me at the front door.  When I got home, I called my doctor, who wrote me a new scrip for Ativan, and went to bed.  That was Thursday.  I took Friday off, played a couple of Gobshites shows over the weekend, and then took Monday off as well.  I've taken the Ativan a few times since then, but it's only an as-needed kind of thing, so it's not really a daily routine.

I'm back at work, breathing better.  I'm still better than I was, and getting better still.

The adventure continues...

This Is The Title of This Post

189 as of this morning.  Not as big a drop as the past couple of weeks, but I'll take it.  It's certainly better than going up, right?  And I fully expect my weight to plateau at some point, so maybe I get down a few more pounds, and then it's all about maintenance.  I can live with that.

I've about had it with the melatonin.  It's never worked, and even Tylenol PM let me down last night.  Frustrating.  Looks like Sleepytime Tea is going to be next on the list.

So...why am I sharing so much of myself here?  I guess there are two main reasons.  One:  Putting myself out there publicly, I think, helps insure that I'm honest about my illness, and about what it's going to take to get better, and also makes it that much more important for me to continue my mission to get back to being the man I was.  Could this backfire?  Most certainly, which is why making sure I avoid the humiliation of falling back into that black fog is paramount.  Am I sharing too much?  Yeah, I probably am.  After all, this is my journey.  I have plenty of love and support from those I love most, but this is about doing what I need to do.

The other reason is the hope that someone going through a similar difficulty might happen to stumble upon this, and see that it is possible to get up and try again.  It's hard, and in my case it almost always takes drastic circumstances to motivate me to do it.  But there is help out there for those of you suffering from depression, ADHD, or any other mental illness or condition that inhibits your happiness and your ability to be yourself.

Get help.  Now.  You can get better, it is possible.  Do it for yourself, and for the life you want.  And don't forget where you were before, and how it felt, so that to do everything you can to avoid it in the future.  Put it behind you, but keep it in your mind when you feel less than motivated to try.

And again, this isn't meant to be a litany of "Woe is me" online.  I want it to be more of a recognition that I'm back at it, fighting and clawing at the surface, forcing my real self to break through once more.  I can feel it, it's coming.  Soon.