Memory Hole

I was in a weird restless mood all morning Couldn't get into anything. And then Tom called and we talked for a long time about life back in the day. It was fun. He thinks I should write a book about it all. Maybe if I wrote fiction. It was a time.
He's always been a good friend. Very supportive of my rock-n-roll dreams. He played guitar for me so I could do a gig and paid another band that was about to bail so they showed up. It was the beginning of my short, flailing musical career.
Then I got a card from Steve. Another good friend who helped me. He played piano on a song I recorded to send as a Christmas card. He called me up on stage one time but I did NOT feel good enough to go. Mark called me up on stage and I went. But that was before I entertained the idea that could really  have my own band. Steve has always been the real real and I. Was. Just. Not.
There were a lot of people but mostly men who really did help me during that phase. And a few who made it harder. And now I rarely even sing in the shower.
Oddly enough I don't feel as sad about that as I think I should. Not finding a way to sing was as painful as any unrequited love I've ever had. I've either found a way to accept it all or I've stuffed into a corner somewhere. Deep, deep in a corner.
Bill sent me a recording of a gig I did so many years ago. He's really the only person who seems to remember that I used to to that. You can hear the drugs and alcohol in my voice.
So I'm in a memory hole. Which is full of all the best and worst things. Mostly lyrics and the sound of the band.