So sorry that I teased explaining why I’m not going to jail on Thursday and then didn’t write on Friday. I’m back to having sleep issues and didn’t have time to write yesterday What makes it worse is that I wrote a short depressing entry on Thursday and now I have tons to write about. I have to explain not going to jail, an idiot story, and two nights of music featuring five acts. Then there’s food. I could write an entire entry, listing things I have to write about. I won’t. The only question now is do I write one long entry or two shorter ones. I’ll play it by ear.
I’ll start with not going to jail, but first I have to take care of something. I’ll be right back. I’m back, I moved from City Island to Bedford Park back in June. I neglected to fill out a change of address form. Jane who I stayed with moved out of the apartment in mid-July. That meant nobody was checking the mail. She came back to take care of some things and discovered I had mail. I a jury summons. Then there was a second jury summons that said since I didn’t come the first time I have to come this time. As this hits the heart of my anxiety/procrastination I procrastinated. I knew I should call and work things out. I finally did on Thursday. That meant finding the summons. That is an archtypical trigger for my anxiety. Where did I put it? What if I can’t find it? I had to meditate to get up the nerve to start. I only meditated a short time as it hit me that I was using the meditation as a means to procrastinate. But it was long enough to do the job. I went to where I knew the summons was, on top of the bookcase I use as a night table. That was a loose sense of the word “knew.” It wasn’t there. I managed to not panic and to think. It must have fallen. There it was on the floor. Whew. Did I call then? No. I had to reward myself for finding it and get my nerve up to make the phone call. Why did this take nerve? The date I was supposed to serve was Thursday. It was Thursday. I missed it, for the second time. This is why I was going to jail. At least it would be convenient, Beruthiel’s son is a court officer at the court I was supposed to serve. He could arrest me and say hi to his mom at the same time. My reward was making breakfast then watching some TV while I ate, and after I ate. I finally gathered myself and made the call.
I found the number on the summons, I called. I started to explain what happened. I didn’t have to finish. He said they’d send me another summons in six months. I gave them my new address. I’m not going to jail. The problem of course is that Falcon Ridge is in sixth months. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I’m a free man till then.
On Friday I tortured my therapist. I had told her what had happened and she said she wouldn’t visit me if I went to jail. I was actually quite nice. I didn’t tell her that I was arrested and put in jail, and had a breakdown. They only released me when they found out that my therapist would not come and visit me. “He’s suffered enough” and they let me go. I didn’t tell her that but I told her that I wanted to day that. Then she had to interrupt my problems because she had to fill out my treatment plan. We do this every three months. Even my therapist won’t listen to my problems. I have suffered enough! There’s more suffering to come later.
After therapy I headed into the city. I planned things well, I left myself enough time to go to Trader Joe’s before heading over to Rockwood Music Hall Stage 3 to see Emily Mure and Matt Sucich. I merched for Emily like I usually do. I’m not sure the last time I saw her, it’s been too long. She’s someone I met for five minutes at NERFA, got her elevator talk and a CD, and ended up connecting with. She’s a conservatory trained musician and it shows, even when she writes songs about Chandler from Friends. Everything she writes has layers to it. I have no idea what that means. I don’t know enough musical theory to know what’s going on, but that’s the subjective feel. I often get that feeling from complex arrangements but at this show it was just heard backed by Matt and sometimes a harmony singer. I don’t know where the complexity lies, but it’s their someplace. Wasn’t that useful?
Matt lives in the periphery of my musical world. This is my third encounter with him. He is a friend of Kat Quinn, who frequently appeared in my blog till she abandoned me and moved to California. She hasn’t played New York since then so she clearly doesn’t love me. I have no idea why I have any friends, I’m without shame.
Matt did an edition of On Your Radar, unless I’m imagining that. I need to make a searchable list of everyone that has played.
He knows Emily because he works at Big aLICe Brewery in LIC as does Emily’s husband, Dom. I can never remember Dom’s name. Why do I remember it now? Because last night I finally came up with a mnemonic; He’s a brewer but his name reminds me of champagne, Dom Perignon. Will this work for more than two days? I suspect it will. I’ll probably end up forgetting Emily’s name.
After the show I went to Rosario’s. I have decided it was my favorite pizza in New York; because I’m me I told them that. I do not hold back on my sincere praise. Exceptional people deserve to know that they are appreciated. It’s on the corner of Orchard and Stanton.
That’s over 1000 words. I’m going to save what happened yesterday for another entry. Maybe it will come later today but I know myself too well to expect that.
Wise Madness 