saturday: i came home from running errands this afternoon, dumped the sheets out of the laundry bag onto the bed, and silently wept. sarah was in the living room with ben. after a while she called out, asking if i was alright. <quote-01>i was just grateful she couldn’t see my face<quote-01>.
<quote-02>i want this to be over. all of it, over<quote-02>. i want out. i’ve said as much to sarah on a couple of desperate occasions. she casually responds that i don’t mean it. once she gently asked if i’d ever thought about how i would do it. i said no, because it was true; i hadn’t.
<quote-03>i really shouldn’t say such things<quote-03>. i hate hearing them come out of my mouth. am i not doing a good enough job qualifying my emotions? i don’t know. could be i’m scared to admit just how hopeless i actually feel. like i said, i’ve never thought about how i’d do it, never seriously.
still, i feel stuck, like i can’t find a way forward, like i don’t even know where to look for one. i don’t know whom to ask for help. i don’t know who it is i can trust; or rather, i don’t trust myself enough to discern from another’s advice what’s of any use. it’s funny, murph, but it’s your words that come to mind like a plague, like a curse: stop telling kids they’re special, mr rogers, because most of them are not. i mean, look at us! none of us are, <quote-04>except for maybe you, wuck<quote-04>; if you don’t make it, you have no one but yourself to blame.
yeah, well, i just want it to be over. <quote-05>is this enough of an emergency to call you, murph? i ask myself<quote-05>. probably not, i answer.
there’s a party raging in the backyard, been going since i got home with the laundry this afternoon. we have to move, have to get out of this neighborhood. i need to focus on that. we need more space. i need room to think, room to figure out how i’m going to support this family.
i’m gonna go to the car to work on the letters, i told sarah after a late dinner.
her brother is letting us borrow his car while he’s out of town. we’re not sure how long that will be, not sure he knows himself. they’re in arizona--he and his wife. sitting here now i’m reminded of coming back from their place in jersey last week. over of the bridge and through the tunnel, i drove out to collect their mail and water the plants. i wound my way up the garage to their parking spot on the fifth level, rode the elevator down to the lobby to retrieve the key from the doorman, then shot all the way up to their penthouse apartment. i don’t know how they do it, sleeping so high in the air. that’s a lot of weight beneath you to ponder, a whole lot of stress on the supporting foundation.
i grabbed <quote-06>a burrito<quote-06> and a decaf in their neighborhood before heading back.
<quote-07>i circled the blocks back in bushwick over and over again, waiting for a spot to open up<quote-07>. the problem these days is the restaurants. with no indoor dining, tables expand from the sidewalks out into the streets. after finally finding a spot, i just sat there, just sat motionless in the quiet. an hour or so later, sarah texted, asking where i was. finally found parking, <quote-08>i said<quote-08>.
cars keep pulling up beside me now, wanting to know if i’m leaving. nope, i motion, staying right here. i’m reminded of how i would similarly position myself between parked cars at the beginning of the summer, back before ben arrived. i’d come out with my beach chair and look for a good spot beneath a streetlamp. i’m under one now and could do without it. i’ve pulled my hat down to cover my face; still, i feel like i’m on display for passersby: <quote-09>check out the middle-aged white man, having a tough day<quote-09>.
sometimes i forget about ben. even when looking right at him, it can take me a second to realize that he is--in fact--my son. sometimes when i’m holding him, he’ll catch my eye and start to smile, but more often than not he just stares past me into space. i’m aware how this is a normal part of his development, but still, i hate the feeling it gives me, <quote-10>like i’m not even there<quote-10>.
i’ve been treating these letters like they’re my work, like putting my thoughts down here is some gift to the world, a real contribution. i’m not so sure anymore, boys. i feel like i’m outside of myself, watching a life wasted. i get no pleasure from this, mind you. <quote-11>i wish i knew my value<quote-11>.
i have a six pack in here with me, and while i imagine it’s illegal to drink beer in the driver seat of a parked car, cops aren’t doing shit these days, so fuck it. they’ve all been leaving well enough alone. gatherings of more than ten folks at a time are now illegal in new york, but show me the cop that’s gonna break one up. twenty-odd rowdy drunks steaming up a tent in your backyard? forget about it. <quote-12>go sit in your car, it bothers you so much<quote-12>.
my landlady stopped me outside the building the other day to tell me the other residents on our floor have tested positive for the virus, warning me to be vigilant, i suppose. earlier, as i walked to the car with my six pack, i fantasized pounding on her door, asking her if she’d told her family partying in the back as much. i even turned back to do so, <quote-13>thinking to myself that my problem as an actor is that i avoid conflict in life<quote-13>. maybe this is why i don’t have a more successful career. what makes me think that i can portray tense moments with any semblance of honesty in front of the camera when i refuse to engage with them in real life? half a block later i thought better of it, realizing what a stupid thought that was. <quote-14>i know what the fuck i’m doing, goddamnit<quote-14>.
i had another audition for <quote-15>blue bloods<quote-15> this week, my first audition in over a month. it was a zoom meeting instead of a self-tape, which was nice. i hate making self-tapes. <quote-16>auditioning without reactions from folks on the other side of the table is the worst<quote-16>. you were appropriately maladjusted, the director said on my performance. the part was a career criminal who gets busted for threatening to kill his cheating girlfriend. thank you, i said. i don’t expect i’ll get it. the other day i went to look up who got some of the roles i auditioned for last season. there was one part i thought for sure was mine, feeling like they’d promised me as much in the room. unfortunately, they had to cast the character’s two older sisters as well. when casting a family, who knows which part gets cast first, who is getting matched to whom. you know who got the part? some fair-skinned dude with strawberry-blonde hair. <quote-17>fantastic<quote-17>. excellent work, wuck.
i’ve finished a few of the beers now, and i have to pee. <quote-18>the ballfield is right around the block, plenty of dark corners around the perimeter<quote-18>. a yellow sports car with a loud muffler just shot past, gunning for the stop sign some hundred yards ahead. nice. hurry up and get there, buddy. fucking loser.
there’s no one out on the field. it’s too cold out. the temperature dropped fast tonight. i’m in the wrong coat. i didn’t bother to check the weather before heading out.
the fuck am i doing here? the fuck are we doing, writing these letters? what was i thinking, pretending i could write? <quote-19>that for some reason i’d be more successful at this than at acting or at writing and recording music<quote-19>? you know what was in the back of my head reading all that knausgaard last year? this guy is gonna make a lot of folks think they can write when they can’t. and now here i am, unable to tell the difference between reaching for that sentiment because it’s true or because it affirms a version of reality that aligns with just how useless i feel. i don’t know what i’m supposed to do with <quote-20>nickcasey<quote-20> either. we played last week, got together in the backyard of casey’s bar around the corner from my house. it felt fantastic to play. i recorded some of the tunes on my phone so i could listen back later, and they all sounded like shit. we can’t sing; we can’t play our guitars. the only thing we have are the songs themselves, and what good are they beyond their representation?
even writing to you two here, i started off feeling like maybe i had something to say, some part of myself that i haven’t yet touched on that would be of value to the project, some darker side of my consciousness that finds it hard to see promise anywhere. but now, sitting here in a borrowed car, cold, i’m deflated in this endeavor as well. it’s just all shit.
another car pulls up beside me, wondering if i’m moving. i think i’m hurting, boys. <quote-21>i think i need some help<quote-21>.
<pull-quote>i want this to be over. all of it, over<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>I've been there, man. It's terrifying.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>i really shouldn’t say such things<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Who can you say them to--even if you don't mean it--if not your wife and best friends?<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>thanks, murph.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>except for maybe you, wuck<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I doubt I said this other than jokingly because I don't believe you are any more special than I am, or any less. What do I believe, however, is that just being special rarely amounts to getting to do special things. If Mr. Rogers really wanted to prepare children for the real world, he'd have told them what a crapshoot life is, how luck is everything--or at least too much--and how we have so little control over any of it. Better to do enough of what makes you happy as you can, give love and accept love. To his credit, Mr. Rogers was right about that: we are all worthy of love. <p-comment>
<p-comment>He did his best.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>is this enough of an emergency to call you, murph? i ask myself<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>I, special or not, love you, special or not.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>a burrito<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Nothing like a Jersey burrito, I've heard.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>yeah, the burrito sucked, but the place did have some retro baseball cards of the 88 dodgers on display—hershiser, valenzuela, scioscia, sax, etc—alongside some spanish tarot cards.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Those aren't tarot cards, bud. Mexican Lotería cards. Like bingo.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>i circled the blocks back in bushwick over and over again, waiting for a spot to open up<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>This was a thing that always kept us from thinking of living in Los Angeles--Kristen and I--our shared disdain of uncertain parking. An outer rung of hell, that.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Totally. Whenever we go into Seattle, the charm of city life instantly wilts into contempt when we circle the block for parking, then fumble for credit cards to feed a meter. Hours later I drive back north to the valley in relief, a real world again.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>i said<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Makes for a tidy excuse, though. I'd use it plenty, I'm sure.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>check out the middle-aged white man, having a tough day<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Not used to this yet, referring to ourselves as middle-aged.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>like i’m not even there<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Well named, man.<p-comment>
<p-comment>I read something during Abram's first month, and then wrote it in Sharpie on a white onesie of his, both as joke and as very serious reminder: "I am a reflection of your undeveloped self." He wore that and squirmed, helpless and adorable. I had to face that: How often am I impatient or irritated with my undeveloped self? My bursts of emotions? My inability to do things? Abram couldn't even hold a toy, and he shit himself hourly. As I learned to see and love Abram, with this in mind, I think it helped me learn to care for myself in a way I never had.<p-comment>
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<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>excellent stuff, hoke.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>i wish i knew my value<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Well, at the very least, there's the into-space-staring son from the previous paragraph.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>If only most men had the courage to say this to their friends.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>go sit in your car, it bothers you so much<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>The Wuck of my imagination long ago purchased the best reasonably priced noise-cancelling headphones money can buy. Maybe you are slipping, old man.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>But then, if you were to wear headphones inside the apartment, it looks like you're advertising your not-wanting-to-hear your wife and child. I get it. What a bind.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>thinking to myself that my problem as an actor is that i avoid conflict in life<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Why would you ever think this? Give my buddy Wuck a break, dude.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Conflict avoidance is great to explore--like in that recent convo with your dad. Sure. But Murph is right here: you're being pretty mean to our buddy Wuck at this point. He's kind and considerate, extremely thoughtful and intentional. He's super hard on himself and he doesn't need any dismissive blame.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>You said, "super hard on."<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>i know what the fuck i’m doing, goddamnit<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Goddamn right you do!<p-comment>
<p-comment>What you needed to do was play pool or chess or some other virtually luckproof thing.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Listen to Murph, Wuck.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>blue bloods<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>This is the rare show that both Conch and Kristen's folks watch.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>casey’s business partner jacob has seen them all. me, i don’t get it. sarah shot an episode, had a great scene with donnie. he wears a hairpiece on the show, evidently. i expect a lot of them do.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Andy will feel better. Let him know about Donnie Wahlberg's hairpiece.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i’ll text him now.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>auditioning without reactions from folks on the other side of the table is the worst<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Then you know a bit of what teaching during the pandemic is like.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Ditto preaching at various churches on Zoom all year. Some pastors ask me to pre-record and send my sermon. Hate it.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i recorded my bach hour the other day, changed the ballgame.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>fantastic<pull-quote>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Ouch.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>the ballfield is right around the block, plenty of dark corners around the perimeter<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Nothing like a good pee outside. "I brought my picnic attachment," my dad would always say before finding a spot to pee.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>This is the first time I felt this, ever: "I miss that guy, Pat Murphy. Wish he were around. I wanna go camping with that dude."<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>our drummer dan never shuts the door when he goes pee. we’ll be in the studio, he’ll go to use the bathroom and just leave the door open and keep right on talking to you.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>He and Abram would get along fine.<p-comment>
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<pull-quote>that for some reason i’d be more successful at this than at acting or at writing and recording music<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>But this time you hitched your wagon to a couple of money trains like Hoke and me. We got you, bro.<p-comment>
<p-comment>Lars from Metallica gets to cash some pretty big checks.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>Laughed harder here, at this, in my office, than I have in weeks.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>lars the worst musician in metallica, huh?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>For fucking sure, bro.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>nickcasey<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Talk to me about Casey's thoughts about the future of the band. Merely a hobby for him at this point? A last creative outlet? A way to connect with you? Still hoping for a big break?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>My questions exactly.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>his investment is in me and in writing songs. as far the band, he follows my lead—it’s always been that way.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>So he's even more a purist than you? Just into the craft and the relationship, ambition be damned?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>i’m not sure if i’d quite put it that way. i don’t think he thinks very much of his abilities, and i think that gets in the way of him pursuing things he would like to.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<pull-quote>i think i need some help<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>Is this when you called me? I see I'm not making it into the letter except to tell you you're not special. Fair.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>ha. yes, this where i called.<p-comment>
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<avatar-hoke><avatar-hoke><author-name>Hoke<author-name>
<p-comment>You can always call me. If I don't pick up, text a quick SOS. Often, people don't want to freak their friends out. But this is literally what I do for a living. I can handle it, bud.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>cheers, brother.<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
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<pull-quote>i was just grateful she couldn’t see my face<pull-quote>
<avatar-murph><avatar-murph><author-name>Murph<author-name>
<p-comment>How much does she know of these hopeless bouts?<p-comment>
<hr><hr>
<avatar-wuck><avatar-wuck><author-name>Wuck<author-name>
<p-comment>as much as i’m willing to admit, i suppose.<p-comment>
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