Last Tuesday, I officially ended an almost 30-year friendship that unofficially ended when I was thrown into grief over losing Aunt Tudi. It would seem that suicidal depression and self-isolation clears the room every damned time. I’m not saying anything further about it, because there’s nothing more to say, except for one thing. The friendship could often be very toxic but, because of who we were and how we were treated before we met, the two of us always ended up back together. It won’t happen this time. There are too many miles, tears, and life-changes between us now. I will miss him but, honestly, I’ve been missing him since he moved across the country back in the 90s. It’s time to accept the inevitable.
In other loss news, I’m still reeling over the death of Prince. From the moment I heard and saw him in the Controversy video, I was in love with his music and in lust with him. From 1981 until his death, that never changed, and it never will. After so many losses of beloved musicians so far this year (fuck you, 2016. fuck you hard.), I’m pretty much walking around in a combination of stunned grief and abject fear. Why the fear? Well, there’s Shriekback, Barry Andrews and Carl Marsh in particular, with whom I’ve developed a good friendship/acquaintance and a fine working relationship over the years. Then there’s Jeff Lynne, who’s resurrected ELO I’m supposed to finally get to see in concert after ages of dreaming. If any of them passES this year, I’m going to lose my fucking shit. I’m not exaggerating here. I can barely handle thinking and writing about it.