Hello Cruel World

The next morning I was tired but everything felt less like an existential crisis than the night before. At least at first. That was before Ziggy took a call where someone–Barrett, I assume–tried to convince him to fly to LA for something. He said no, but the creeping dread about everything industry-related crawled right back up my legs and took hold of me by the throat.

Good thing the first thing on the schedule that day was medical then, eh?
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Nothing Else Matters

Jeezus New York is noisy. Don’t ask me how I managed to forget that fact in the couple of months since I’d been there. I usually slept well with the background sounds of the city, but that night I lay awake in Ziggy’s bed, very aware of every car and truck and dog and drunk that went by outside.
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Escape

The thing about being drugged to the gills all the time is that it’s not easy to actually to maintain the “all the time” part. (I should know.) And the crash or hangover that hits in the inevitable gaps is not pretty.

So it’s a good thing I talked to Claire about me going to New York the night before she crashed. When she was high she was magnanimous. She even said she’d be willing to “entertain a visit from a former suitor”–meaning Remo–“if the gentleman were willing to spend the time and expense” to haul his ass back to Tennessee. No, I don’t know why sometimes she talked like she was in a 19th century period drama. Claire contained multitudes, I guess. Maybe it was her Scarlett O’Hara impression and in her mind the bungalow was a plantation.
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Operation Spirit

Here’s one of the things about depression. I don’t–unlike some people we know–get suicidal thoughts. Not according to my therapist, anyway. What I do get are one step over from that, which is big picture thoughts like… what is the meaning of life anyway?
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Murder, Tonight, In the Trailer Park

Flip summoned me to the RV later that day to take a call on the “bag phone” from Remo.

“I’m calling to say happy birthday,” Remo announced when I got on the call. I sat on an upturned crate outside the RV in the driveway. “I was trying to reach you yesterday but apparently I had the wrong number.”
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Anybody Listening

We sat on the rock looking at the water for a longish time. The sun got hot to the point I took my jacket off. Like, summer hot. Ziggy stripped his T-shirt off and sunned himself, using his balled up jacket and shirt as a pillow.
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Ain’t it Heavy

I woke up on the morning of February 22, 1992, having completed 24 revolutions around the sun. Actual birds were singing and Ziggy was in my arms. (He didn’t have much choice: the bed was not large.)
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Planet Love

A bunch of questions competed for space in my brain. How did you get here? When? Was it your idea or Flip’s? How are you? Are you still mad at me?

What made it out my mouth was, “Were you asleep?”
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Tired Wings

In retrospect, I should have said no to the celebratory free glass of champagne that the steakhouse offered me. I was too surprised by it to refuse. I guess that’s how you know it was a “classy” place.
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The Boss

The next few days were more of the same, which is to say the main activity was getting Claire stoned, which she seemed to enjoy very much. Claire with her inhibitions down and her mortality looming had a lot of emotions and emotional energy. Sometimes that meant she was charming to the point of hyperactivity and sometimes she went on rants about my father, or topics like… nuclear energy? (I know.)
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