1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

What a shitty year.

In my heart, I think Ritu committed suicide. I didn't know for the longest time, but now I'm convinced that she killed herself. That's the only thing that makes sense.

I failed Ritu, a friend in need. If not a friend, someone, anyone, in need who was reaching out for help. There is no excuse for it, she was in pain and I brushed it off, tough love, she's got to get out of it by herself and that's what will make her stronger. Idiot! Where was my compassion, where was my patience, where was my empathy? Instead, I put up a wall, defenses, protected myself at her expense. I was a snob. I think of how Ritu was starting on August 1st, and I can only amaze myself at how callously I treated her.

I'm not a good person. I need to work on that. It's not like I'll never forgive myself, I have to, but I feel sad about how I treated Ritu and I need to always remember her. I don't think I could have stopped her from killing herself, I don't think I would have, but the very least I had to do was be there for her, to let her know that she wasn't alone and that someone feels for her. When someone is in that much pain, just be there for them. Don't write them off and hope for the best. It wasn't my burden to stop her from killing herself, but it was my responsibility to not abandon her. Ritu, I'm so sorry.

As this year ends, I name no one as special in my life. Madoka and I have drifted and we're trying to force our friendship to fit. Our first calendar year not having seen each other.

So what from this year do I take into the next? What continuity should there be?

Doubts about being here only grow. I don't want to grow old. I don't want to grow old, but each year is another year older. How long am I going to put up with this? The older I get, the more real it becomes that if I'm going to leave, I need to do it sooner, rather than later.

1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

All my life I thought there was a spirit that followed me around and protected me. I thought that in some way I was special. Then it hit me today that it’s the total opposite. I go about my life like I’m holy, but the truth is I am one among the damned. My life is a total mess, I’m a wreck, I want to die, I can’t stand being here anymore. If I’m so holy, then what is this all about? This is about being damned and going through a stage of hell, and not one of the upper layers, either. The paradigm with which I view my life needs to completely change.

Series IX, Roll 3 (Pentax ZX-5n, T400CN):

China Basin, San Francisco: Under Rte. 280


Frame 2 - Under the 280 freeway

1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

My life is falling out of control. I don’t know what I’m still doing here and I can’t stand being here. I want to give the band a chance, but how smart is that? How realistic is that? Music is not necessarily something to live for. It’s stupid.

If I’m going to kill myself sooner or later, what does it matter if music goes anywhere or not? Music is just an excuse to keep going, and if things go somewhere...I won’t kill myself? How stupid is that. That’s not what I want to live my life for. All that matters is that if I’m going to kill myself anyway, then it makes no difference whether I do it sooner or later.

I’ve totally lost the path I was on. My life use to be a journey; an exploration, a search and discovery; it used to mean something. Now it is just living day to day to the next paycheck doing something I really don’t care about.

The Tempest Gig, Soma, San Francisco

Lisa on bass.


I swear I don't usually look like that when I'm playing.

1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

What else is my life now? Fiction had our first gig and we played another gig since then, and we have three more lined up between now and the middle of January. It’s going good, but we need to record again with the new guitarist and figure out what this band is in this configuration.

Rosalie is moving to Southern California. The movers come tomorrow and I immediately start moving my stuff into her room. I’m moving into her room, and Denise’s friend Jen is moving into my old room.

1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’m emotionally drained and I’ve hit a wall. I’ve been drinking like never before and I don’t know how much more I can take it. Getting over Ritu’s death has been hard.

What is my life? None of this is real, none of this has been real; just stupid clouds passing through my life. I need to land and I can’t find an island. All of my feelings have been stupid, and none of it has been real. There has to be more than this.

I’ll make it to the end of the year. I’ll make it into several months of next year. Music is the only thing sustaining me and getting me to that point, but if it looks like a dead-end after that point, I’m not going to bother. It’s not the only option I have, I know that, but it’s the option I’m going to choose. I need to shut off emotionally to get me there. If I keep feeling I won’t make it.