Lewis Capaldi image borrowed from the BBC because none of mine came out OK
Because we always give credit where credit is due, you can see the image in it’s full glory here
I went to see Lewis Capaldi in Boston the week after the hockey game with Bestie. (I’ve reacquainted myself with the Commuter Rail. Oh, joy!)
I had been excited about the show, but once I got off the T at Kenmore, the whole vibe was off. Then, I saw that The Maine were playing across the street at the House of Blues. I really loved their (now ancient) album Black & White. Right Girl is definitely my fave song on that album. It shows up on just about every playlist I make for some reason… so when I saw their tour bus on the street, it took everything in my power to not walk over and watch that show.
MGM Music Hall at Fenway sells standing room only tickets on the top floor. I have no idea that I’d be in SRO on the tippity top floor of the venue, but that does explain why the ticket - even via reseller - was so cheap. It was a crappy view and they had some bar height tables in between SRO and the railing, so of course, I was stuck behind some kids who were fascinated with taking flash pictures of themselves. (Way old enough to know better, too.) Mom and dad didn’t give a fuck, which made everything so much better. I was also standing next to Those Girls. There are always girls at shows who spend the entire time bitching and whining about wanting to hear the (eventual) encore. Aaaaand when said song is played, they talk through the entire thing. I mean, he doesn’t have a vast catalog like R.E.M., so it was kind of easy to figure out what the encore was going to be. (Or they could be like my bestie Mom over there, who spoiled the entire setlist because she was comparing it to one she found online. Dad found his ballsack for that and told her to shut up, which was nice. Why he chose that to speak up about and NOT HIS FUCKINGS KIDS is beyond me.)
It took me forever to put my finger on why I was so miserable the entire show. I mean like cried through the entire thing miserable.
Well, dumbass, maybe because all he writes are fucking love songs?
I am here to prove that just because a song is about a romantic relationship, that doesn’t mean I can’t twist it into how much I miss my father. Especially when it’s only 12 days before the 25th anniversary of his death.
The entire setlist, in all it’s glory:
Survive i might have started the night absolutely fucking bawling. those first two lines. oof.
How long ‘til it feels like the wound’s finally starting to heal?
Grace
I got nothing but you on my mind
Heavenly Kind of State of Mind
Oh, Lord, I ain’t afraid to die if it means I’m by your side. It would be such a heavenly way to say goodbye. From now until the afterlife, be it rain or hail or shine, we could be intertwined.
Forever
Nobody said that it would last forever. // They’ll never take those long summer days…
Wish You the Best
I miss knowing what you’re thinking, and hearing how your day has been. // Right now, you’re probably by the ocean… // I wanna say, “I wish that you never left” oh, but instead, I only wish you the best. I wanna say, “Without you, everything’s wrong” and you were everything I need all along.
Love the Hell Out of You fuck. this one got me good. i cried through the entire thing…
You got your demons, spent seasons on the dark side of the moon. Don’t try denying ‘cause you know that I’ve been there, too. Right now I know how it feels, like the world’s gonna end, but I’ll get you through. If it’s the last thing I do. I’m gonna love the hell out of you. Take all the pain that you’re going through. I’ll bring you heaven, if that’s what you need, ‘cause you’ve always loved the hell out of me.
Almost i might have cried through this one, too.
I swear to God, I’m, almost alright. I only think about you all the time. I almost never fall asleep withing you were here with me. And I promise I completely let you go. I swear to God, I’m almost OK. I only talk about you every day. It almost never cut me deep when I had to watch you leave. And I promise I completely let you go. Almost.
Bruises
Maybe I’m just being blinded by the brighter side of what we had because it’s over, well there must be something in the tide. I’ve been told, I’ve been told to get you off my mind…
Pointless
Of all the dreams I’m chasing, there’s only one I choose. Everything is pointless without you.
Something in the Heavens
I’ll love you ‘til my last breath. You’re gone but something in the heavens tells that we’ll be together again. // Just days of permanent grey since you disappeared. But, ‘til the day I die, I will dream of you. In a million lives, you’re the one I’d choose.
Leave Me Slowly
So, if you’re gonna leave me, just leave me slowly… I’d rather that you lay here, than leave me lonely. Stay for a while, just one more mile, before we say goodbye.
Forget Me
Days ache and nights are long. Two years and still, you’re not gone. Guess I’m still holding on.
The Day That I Die i. ugly. cried. through. the. entire. fucking. thing.
Just as the sun will rise and the sun will set, I will love you just the same from somewhere different. Until you close your eyes, and we meet again, don’t you, don’t you cry. On the day that I die, I promise I will be reliving every second, every minute, of you and I. Flashing right before my eyes, every young and dumb decision, every blessing I was given. What a life.
Before You Go jesus fuck. i ugly cried through this one too…
When you hurt under the surface, like troubled water running cold, well, time can heal, but this won’t. So, before you go, was there something I could’ve said to make your heart beat better? If only I’d have known you had a storm to weather. So, before you go, was there something I could’ve said to make it all stop hurting? It kills me how mind can make you feel so worthless.
Stay Love
Oh, love, I’m a mess right now. Can you help me out? ‘Cause it’s all gone south. Oh, love, make the hurt not hurt, ‘cause the pills don’t work. They just make it worse. // Oh, life can be cruel sometimes. It’s the perfect crime with an alibi.
Hold Me While You Wait
I wish that I was good enough. If only I could wake you up…
Someone You Loved yup. the. whole. fucking. thing.
I’m going under and this time I fear there’s no one to save me
This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy
I need somebody to heal
Somebody to know
Somebody to have
Somebody to hold
It’s easy to say
But it’s never the same
I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain
Now the day bleeds
Into nightfall
And you’re not here
To get me through it all
I let my guard down
And then you pulled the rug
I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved
I’m going under and this time I fear there’s no one to turn to
This all or nothing way of loving got me sleeping without you
Now, I need somebody to know
Somebody to heal
Somebody to have
Just to know how it feels
It’s easy to say
But it’s never the same
I guess I kinda liked the way you helped me escape
Now the day bleeds
Into nightfall
And you’re not here
To get me through it all
I let my guard down
And then you pulled the rug
I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved
And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes
I fall into your arms
I’ll be safe in your sound til I come back around
For now the day bleeds
Into nightfall
And you’re not here
To get me through it all
I let my guard down
And then you pulled the rug
I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved
But now the day bleeds
Into nightfall
And you’re not here
To get me through it all
I let my guard down
And then you pulled the rug
I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved
I let my guard down
And then you pulled the rug
I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved
The bad news is that I’ve been living in a never ending panic attack. (Hollander, you are having panic attack.)
My shrinky dink can’t prescribe me the good drugs because she’s not licensed in Maine. She did prescribe me something that would - supposedly - calm me down.
My brain looked at it and said, “What’s the maximum dose? Three? Oh, honey, you’re going to need to at least triple that shit if you want them to work.”
My brain? It’s an asshole.
I’m mentally ill - of course my brain is an asshole. It’s just a bigger one than usual.
Fuck.
At any rate, let’s discuss why I’m actually here.
We’re trying something new today! Trauma dumping!
Wait. That’s not new. You must be new here.
Warning: this entire blog is nothing but a trauma dumping ground.
Well, that’s not totally true…
I’ve been gushing (ha!) over gay hockey players. I bitch about writing. I try to be humorous.
I write.
It’s what I do.
(We’ll get to the puppy later; that’s a whole fucking thing that I don’t have the energy for.)
On April 30, 2001, I went to my father’s apartment at lunch. He wasn’t answering my calls and that was unlike him. He was supposed to be home, waiting for a furniture delivery. I had to have the complex manager let me in… Once she clocked what had happened, she fucking vanished. *poof*
I was not so lucky.
In my nightmares, I relive that moment. The door opening. Him napping on the couch. Walking over there to wake him up. Realising he wasn’t going to.
Everything after that is a blur.
I had just turned 26.
I was an orphan and, very literally, all alone in the world.
No family left.
A boyfriend, a few friends scattered here and there, a coworker who welcomed me as a full member in good standing of the Dead Parents Club, Toledo Chapter. (God, do I love the people in my life who understand my sense of humor.)
May 3, 2001 would have been my mother’s 55th birthday, if she hadn’t died nine years earlier.
May 10, 2001 would have been their 32nd wedding anniversary, had they not gotten divorced in March of 1992.
May 13, 2001 was Mother’s Day.
If my brain is an asshole, the calendar certainly gave it a run for the money.
I honestly don’t remember much about the aftermath, either. I do remember an epic melt-down at work, four therapists, a shrinky dink, a diagnosis, clarity, and walking out of a pharmacy with a little orange bottle that would, also quite literally, change my life.
The contents of that bottle has changed over the years, as has the number of the bottles, but without them? I might not have survived the darkest chapter of my life. I’ll never identify as suicidal, because I can’t do it. The unaliving, I mean. I don’t want to do that to my friends. Not the ones that hung around and supported me when I didn’t even know I needed it.
But.
I came really fucking close.
Depression lies and my brain is an asshole.
And both of them were whispering in my ear about how everything would just… go away.
How I would see my father again. Make peace with my mother. How my friends would go on with their lives and I’d just be a faded memory. How it wouldn’t hurt them and how it would fix everything.
I looked at the pill bottle.
I looked at the side effects.
I calculated the risks.
I looked at the clock to see how much time I had before the boyfriend would come home.
And I put the bottle back where it belonged.
Thursday is the 25th anniversary of the day I found his lifeless body on a couch in some shitty Toledo apartment.
I am not doing well.
Not even close.
Someone asked me if this year was especially bad because April 30th is also the day we went in front of a judge and finalised our divorce.
Also? May 3rd? The day he told me he wanted a divorce. Granted, I’d been thinking about it for a while, but to finally pull the band-aid off? That was a weird night on so many different levels.
The calendar?
An absolute motherfucker.
- - - - - - - - - -
[Verse 1]
How long till it feels
Like the wound’s finally starting to heal?
How long till it feels
Like I’m more than a spoke in a wheel?
[Pre-Chorus]
Most nights, I fear
That I’m not enough
I’ve had my share of Monday mornings when I can’t get up
But, when hope is lost
And I come undone
[Chorus]
I swear to God, I’ll survive
If it kills me to
I’m gonna get up and try
If it’s the last thing I do
I’ve still got something to give
Though it hurts sometimes
I’m gonna get up and live
Until the day that I die
I swear to God, I’ll survive
[Verse 2]
How long till you know
That, in truth, you know nothing at all?
How far will you go
To get back to the place you belong?
[Pre-Chorus]
Most nights, I fear
That I’m not enough
But I refuse to spend my best years rotting in the sun
So, when hope is lost
And I come undone
[Chorus]
I swear to God, I’ll survive
If it kills me to
I’m gonna get up and try
If it’s the last thing I do
I’ve still got something to give
Though it hurts sometimes
I’m gonna get up and live
Until the day that I die
I swear to God, I’ll survive
I swear to God, I’ll survive
[Chorus]
I swear to God, I’ll survive
If it kills me to
I’m gonna get up and try
If it’s the last thing I do
I’ve still got something to give
Though it hurts sometimes
I’m gonna get up and live
Until the day that I die
I swear to God, I’ll survive
- Survive, Lewis Capaldi
My shrinky dink is convinced that boys and girls can’t be friends without someone wanting to get in the other’s pants.
To be honest, a lot of women feel that way, and I cannot wrap my brain around it.
My bestie turned 50 on Andy Moog’s birthday, and we’ve wanted to get to a Bruins game for a while, so I treated him.
Not a big deal; we watched a lot of B’s hockey when we were younger. I’ve missed watching hockey with him, so every chance I get, I will take it.
Unfortunately, I live five hours north of Boston and I hate driving into the city. My genius ass decided that it would be a great idea to take the train in.
Well, the MBTA decided to work on the tracks and end the commuter rail at Beverly, so I had to take a bus from Beverly to North Station. I triple checked the schedule and the original 9AM train I was going to take from Newburyport was scheduled to arrive after noon. It was a 12:30 game and Bestie was getting to Boston at 10AM, so I decided to take the 7AM train.
Remember when I said it was a five hour trip? My ass left the house at 2AM to get to North Station at 8:30, not the 9:30 the revised schedule said. ARGH!!!!!
But. I made friends with a guy in an Andy Moog jersey while I waited so it wasn’t completely horrible. (Yes, yes, I did. Normally, I would avoid talking to a stranger but I was hopped up on two coffees and a bottle of Coke. It’s like being manic, but without… the mental illness part of it? I don’t know.)
When Bestie finally showed up, I was over the moon. Fuck, I’ve missed seeing him in person. Texts just don’t hit the same.
I don’t even know how to do the day justice. I was a sappy mess, but he means a lot to me. He is my everything, My ride or die. My bestie.
And I needed him to know that.
Life’s too short to not share those sort of feelings.
But, you know, boys and girls can’t have deep, meaningful, platonic, friendships…
So, let’s talk Heated Rivalry because I cannot get it out of my head.
I have been so good about not watching the show on repeat because whenever I have watched it, it gets my full attention. Kind of hard to put it on in the background and do stuff… I’m also kind of annoyed with it. I found my original Drarry plot / sketch notebook and it’s like Tierney and Reid went through it page by page. There are just too many hockey tropes that writers - me included - lean on, but they did it better. Yeah. I’ve been fighting with the Drarry hockey disaster for years so now I’m on draft three. I’m trying to get away from the tropes, yet still fit in the framework that people find familiar.
Honestly, as annoying as it is to start fresh, the writing is better this time around. Or, at least, I like it better.
I finished all the books and I’m also very annoyed at the people on Facebook who are asking stupid questions about things that happen in the books, but say that they refuse to read them. OR they only read the two books that center on Hollanov, and miss the subtle things woven throughout the six books. Like Ilya colllecting gay people… It’s this whole thing that you don’t really catch on to, but it’s there. REALLY subtle and nicely done.
I’m also annoyed by the Skip haters who, well, skip their episode because they ‘don’t like it’. My siblings in Christ, if it wasn’t for Skip, WE WOULD NEVER GO TO THE COTTAGE. I think the show did the book dirty because the relationship was weird and angsty and kind of beautiful in it’s own way. I have to say that during every reheat I yell “SKIPPY” every time I see them on screen, I like them that much.
The cats are starting to worry about my mental health.
They don’t even know the amount of crazy I can bring to the party.
I could go on, but let’s talk about the title of this entry. Which, oddly enough, has nothing to do with the two hockey players.
I’ve been in a weird place lately. Not quite depressed, not quite manic, but definitely not normal. I’d say I’m cycling but it doesn’t feel like that, either. I’m stuck in this weird off-center bipolar limbo. Even my shrink picked up on it when we met this week. I don’t know. It is what it is and nothing is fixing it. I’m just going to ride it out and hope I come out the other side soon. I thought I’ve experienced everything the bipolar could possibly throw at me, but this is new. And I don’t like it.
This weird little place my brain is residing in led to me to texting Mr. First Guy and telling him I wish we were watching the BOS-MTL game together. We’re both huge Bruins fans and our favourite player is Andy Moog, a goalie. He shares a birthday with Moog and I share a birthday with Bobby Orr, so it’s like we were meant to be. We have, however, in the years since high school become friends. Good friends. Besties. It’s not outside the realm of possibility for us to go to a game together, or even watch a game on TV. More importantly, it’s a completely valid emotional response to watching the biggest rivalry in hockey. (Which, OK. Fine. The rivalry in Heated Rivalry is also BOS-MTL, which lead a bunch of fangirls to watch that game. Whatever. It’s weird, but, you do you, boo.)
During this conversation, I brought up Mr. FNFTF and said how the two of them have really helped me survive through the years. Like they filled two holes in me. Which, thankfully, didn’t go anywhere further than ‘shared trauma’ being the glue keeping them in my life. They were both around when my mother died and they were there when my dad died, too. I know my dad’s death affected Mr. FNFTF because they used to hang out without me. Which is weird, but gives me the warm fuzzies. I’m just fortunate that I still have people around from that time period because I don’t have a lot of people left who were there. A lot of people only saw the fallout from my mother’s death or they saw me hit rock bottom after my dad died. The people that came in and out of my life in the 10 years between just don’t get me. Neither do the ones that came in after my dad. I don’t know how to describe it. I mean, those are life changing events and they really form the basis of who I am. To not see the whole picture…
When Mr. First Time told me he loved me in that text conversation, I broke down and bawled. Ugly cried. It was so good to hear it - unprovoked and knowing exactly where it was coming from. I didn’t realise how alone I’d been feeling until he reminded me that I still have some worth to people. (Depression lies. Period.)
Everybody is fascinated by how easily I walked away from a relationship of 30 years, married for 26, but after all those years of riding the bipolar roller coaster with me, he still didn’t understand what I needed. And I wanted to move back to New England. Neither was something we could compromise on and I’d go so far as to state that keeping that relationship going was a compromise, but I wasn’t willing to continue doing it any more. We haven’t spoken in any way, shape, or form since his text asking how the drive to Maine was. I certainly didn’t go out of my way to text him on his birthday - I didn’t feel the need to. Unlike the other two, I don’t need him in my life and more importantly, I don’t want him there, either.
So. Yeah. It’s nice to be understood. It’s nice to be wanted. It’s nice to have, um, holes filled.
And on a completely random note, the breeder we got G-Man from has a new litter of puppies. I’ve wanted a dog, but I’ve been flip flopping over what breed to get. For $3,800 I can get an amazing German Shepherd. Good temperament, breed to be gorgeous, and smart as fuck. BUT that is a lot of cash I don’t really have unless I dig into my savings and my house really needs to have the vinyl siding replaced. Decisions, decisions. I think I’d rather spend the money on a dog, tbh. Not sure the cats will agree, though. The breeder hasn’t asked for a deposit, so I’m just going to wait and see if I make it to the reservation list or the wait list. I haven’t heard back.
Even more random, Fandom Running Club is doing it’s first Rumble of the year. I’m on a team (Razoom’s Back!) that’s fundraising for Razom for Ukraine. The race has three different groups with different caps (5K, 10K, 10 miles) to make it more competitive. My dumb ass has consistently been doing 10 miles since we started 16 days ago. I could drop to a lower level. I want to drop to a lower level, but I also want to win and doing 10 a day will keep us competitive. I mean, I can’t bitch about my teammates. We all have things going on and it’s easier to do lower miles. I’m not that busy. I can spend 4 hours on a treadmill, no problem. My feet don’t want me to - I have blisters EVERYWHERE. My toes are killing me and since 10 different blisters in that area wasn’t enough, they’ve moved onto my heel. I don’t care. I can live with the pain. Ukrainians are dealing with a lot worse than blistered feet.
Even even more random, I have FINALLY moved into the kitchen. I ended up ripping out one of the lazy susans and finding some pull out drawers on clearance at Home Depot. The cabinets are much more functional now. Every thing I can’t fit is in the dining room. That was on my agenda to clean this weekend, but I tore the living room apart instead. I needed more light and I needed more space between the couch, pellet stove, and treadmill. The good news is that the living room is spotless and the kitchen is finally livable. I’ll get to the dining room soon. I do need the house as clean as possible ASAP. I’m tired of living like this. It just sucks that my time is so limited. (Also, the puppies will be ready to go home in March, so I have extra motivation.)
Speaking of things to do… I should probably get to my to-do list. I’m hopping on the treadmill for the Stupid Bowl if only because I want to see how Green Day and Bad Bunny comment on the current state of the union…. which only leaves me 5 hours to try to do eleventy gazillion things.
This fucking scene broke me in all the right ways…
Jesus fucking Christ. Do you people even know me?
I love hockey.
I love MM relationships.
I love porn.
So, OF COURSE, I will absolutely lose my mind for MM hockey porn.
I had no idea that was a secret.
It’s not like I’ve hidden my love for MM fiction nor talk about writing it (including the absolutely frustrating Drarry Hockey Disaster. I swear to fucking god, if I ever finish it that will be the title because it is fighting me every step of the way. )
Imagine my surprise when my phone, email, and DMs started BLOWING THE FUCK UP with people asking me if I’d heard of Heated Rivalry and if I’ve read the book or watched the show.
The Game Changers series has been on my TBR forever; I was a little burned out on hockey but I decided to start reading them if only to get everyone to shut the fuck up.
Holy. Mother. Of. Fucking. Fuckity. Fuck.
I really enjoyed the first two and then I stopped to watch the show since it only covered the first two books.
Did I say Holy. Mother. Of. Fucking. Fuckity. Fuck. already?
How about Motherfucking Jumping Jesus Fucking Christ on a Motherfucking Pogo Stick.?
Fuck.
That show really needs to come with a warning because it took everything that was amazing in the book and…
Fuck.
“Will you come to my cottage this summer? Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun. It’s so private. No one will know.” absolutely shattered me.
SHATTERED.
I AM BROKEN.
I AM IN PIECES.
I swear, MM hockey porn is going to be the fucking death of me.
What a way to go.
EDIT: I had to change the title because I kept getting shit for “misquoting” the line. No. I wasn’t quoting it…but whatever. Ya’ll are some psychos.
