It was bound to happen… another sign of better days passed… approximately eight months ago.I decided to allow my subscription to Bass Player Magazine lapse…The last issue was schedule to be the one dated November 2012.

I played ONE gig this year (2012) and I was damned grateful for it. But, the fact that i don’t have a car doesn’t help and it doesn’t look as if that purchase will happen anytime soon. After a long string of bad starts or quitting projects or jobs too soon my losing music makes feel as if I’ve lost my one real life’s accomplishment. I really feel bad because music is the only thing I’ve ever done really well and it has been my one tangible connection to my youth, and my self-worth.

I act tragically optimistic, and post all kinds of upbeat stuff on Facebook, but deep inside I”m scared to death hoping against hope that something will turn up – a job that will pay more than $13 an hour, or a gig, or I might meet a woman who isn’t neurotic, and would accept me as the flawed, big child that I am. I DID meet a wonderful woman (who was in NO WAY, neurotic; in fact, she was and remains one of the most patient, giving, intelligent and elegant women on the planet.) in1991 and married her in 1992 then proceeded to screw up the relationship and get divorced in 1996.

Scared? yes, I AM scared to death of spending the rest of my life alone, of dying alone, of being just totally ignored by those in my circle who have, and justifiably so, more pressing issues on their plate than worrying about that goof who played music, fucked up relationships and employment as if another one would be along in a few days.

I spend a lot of time alone and I HATE it. when I was a kid I spent a lot of time alone because my parents who, after my brother died, tended to withdraw from social situations and it left me by myself to fend for myself to wander off and spend MANY lonely Sundays exploring every square inch of every neighborhood that was within walking distance from Richmond and Waveland Streets. I would think nothing of walking to Wrigley Field or Riverview Park, or to River Park at Foster and California. In those days there were no cell phones and me being lonely and wanting for something to do (and consequently losing track of time) probably worried my parents sick as they were still reeling from the loss of my Brother, Bill to a Rheumatic Heart in 1956.

So now it’s 50-some years later and my Sundays are just as crappy as they were back in the 50’s. The only difference is, if I wander off or get hit by a bus no one would know. I’m all I have, and that’s scary, too.

Well, today things got handed back to me….My LAST issue of Bass Player magazine was in my mailbox, today.

All of the thoughts that I have just blogged above came rushing back like a gust of wind before a thunderstorm. God, I pray to you that I’m wrong, but I feel alone, invisible and insignificant.

Honestly, I want one last chance to make a difference in the life someone other than me. I want to feel as selfless as those who I have been blessed to call friends.

Please realize this isn’t me looking for sympathy. I am merely putting a “reality check” into words. I’m not going to do anything rash; one attempt to end things was one too many. And It doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I still believe things will get better. right now I’m sick and I feel beat.

Thanks for reading this “brain fart.” If it makes sense please (or, even if it DOESN’T) please keep a good thought for me. I’ll be better soon. I am actively pursuing therapy in order to come to terms with these feelings.

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