Monday, October 5, 2009

Studio/Asthma Death

I have spent the last two days in the studio. My first real studio. Not just pissing around with pro tools at a mate's getting my songs down, though that's always fun too. I was so excited. I can't begin to describe the feeling of seeing 25 years of work come to light. Dream come true it was. The producer said he could hear "Lullaby" on the radio. We layered the shit out of that song. It is epic. I can't believe I wrote it. It's so much bigger than me... Looking back I remember the steps of writing it. Needing to write about losing Mason to addiction, but again truly another man I never really had as he was cheating on me.
He never confessed but Nate, one of his two best friends, confirmed for me last time we spoke. I have spoken of Nate before. I miss the shit out of him...
Anyway we expected to be in there and pay for 20 hours. We finished up in 15. Strings were done on take one. Piano in two takes. Vocals well, I'm pickier about that shit so that was about five, trying to nail harmonies and such.
I had a text conversation right before I recorded the vox for "Goodbye" the hardest and angriest song I've ever written. It hurt me. I took it out on the music. You can hear it. I mean, I sound angry. Nothing pretty about my voice in that recording, unlike the first time I recorded that song with out the band. The conversation prompted thoughts from the band... I'd go more into it, but I can't just now. It was a confirmation of something else unsettling in my life...
I called up Frank in a tizzy after hearing all this come out. I would have called Johnny but he was with Amber. He doesn't like talking much on the phone, and I just couldn't see having that conversation with him just then, as much as I wished we could. So Frank was excited for me. I said "I know it's gunna be late, but can I please stop by after?" I really didn't wanna be that high (on life mind you, though we did have a couple bottles of wine in the studio...) alone. He graciously agreed and I went over after. When he opened the door he had his guitar on and he was picking. I said "hi!" with a huge smile, and he began playing "Full Throttle" one of the other songs I recorded. I was so surprised he'd found the song, listened, and learned it. It was incredibly faltering. So we drank vodka which he'd also thoughtfully bought for me, and I gushed endlessly about every stupid detail til I blacked out half a bottle of vodka in. He was exactly what I needed after that kind of day. To be around someone. Not to come home to a fucking empty house, alone.
Came home later on when I was ok and crawled into bed, hoping not to have a hangover today cuz I needed to be up to finish studio stuff. But I managed to have some tears anyway. I'm still wondering the whys I guess. I wonder if you ever don't do that. The liquor was a major player in the cry fest though, as I don't cry much these days unless I go home after drinking and the dark and silence and emptiness greet me. I haven't fought off that demon yet, though as I'm coming to terms with some truths about myself I realized what my major trigger is: Loneliness. It's a bitch. And I can't talk to anyone about it at 5am.
I also don't think people realize how truly lonely I am. I like my own time. I like my own company. But it has to be limited. Which is why I'm really nervous about this next revelation:

I'm moving back to Whidbey island. This is not good news. The house is fucking BEAUTIFUL. It's quiet. It has a view of the water. It is 2 levels so I won't disturb my Dad. But it is a boat ride and a 15 minute drive more to anything that matters to me here. Which means when I'm out there and can't just call up Frank, or hit up O Fins when I'm feeling an episode coming on. The band stuff in the morning, I've just added an hour to my commute. Getting a job out there is impossible.
So why am I doing this?

Because I can NOT stand to see my Father hurt anymore here. I can not see him depressed as all hell, and feel like he wants to kill himself. He never says this to me of course, but I have been there. I know exactly what he's thinking.
If someone had taken the 15 year old me and said "I can move you to a place you want to be (at that time here or Orlando) in a house you'll love, in a setting you'll appreciate with all the important things in your life, would you take it?" I would have said hell yes in a second flat and done it. So... I'm gunna do that for my Dad. I love him that much. I'm going to walk right into something I know can torpedo everything that makes me happy about my life because it will make him happy. Because that's what love is. I don't think it will be bad for the first month maybe. And I'm hoping in that amount of time I can make a plan to do what I have to do before I get too depressed or crazy to do anything about it.
But I am apprehensive even thinking about it.
When I talked to Frank about it he said why do you have to go? You're a grown woman, do what you want. And I said it's not that simple when you're sick. I rely on him for a few things I can't sustain on my own until I'm better. And umm, I'm not getting better.
With Johnny when I said it he said nothing. I said do you have any thoughts on the matter? He said we'll figure it out.
That makes me nervous too because having to be there longer will invade his private time and space and such. He's not really into asking me for more time as I've said. And the few times it's happened I've stayed longer, it hasn't felt ok.
I wish we could be around each other more. I wish he wanted it more. I wish I didn't know his truest feelings without him saying anything but by reading his actions and body language. I wish I could lie to myself because it would pacify me.
Everything is fucking changing again, and while I embrace change this one intimidates me. And saddens me. But we can't always be selfish. And it's my Dad's turn to be happy.

In other news yesterday when I woke up at Johnny's (before day one in the studio) I was having a dream about being suffocated. I was in a room at a party and I couldn't breathe. I saw Chris standing in the doorway though. He never said a word. I awoke to a full on asthma attack. My worst ever. I tried to just breathe for a few minutes because I didn't want to leave J early but I realized I was losing that battle and more quickly than I liked. So I gathered up my things, and began walking to my car. I called my Mom because I was unsure of what to do. My inhaler was 30 minutes away, and frankly I couldn't even remember if I had one anymore that worked. She insisted that I go immediately to the nearest E.R. I tried between shallow breaths to tell her I didn't have time to be there for 3 hours while they fucked around. I HAD to be in the studio. Nothing mattered more to me. We called back and forth and finally about the time I reached Shoreline I gave in and realized I was starting to get light headed and was not only putting me in danger but other drivers at that point if I passed out, and my brain had been deprived of decent oxygen for a good forty five minutes already. So I called my Dad to find a hospital near there. There wasn't one. I was closer to the possible inhaler at home than to a hospital so I made the decision to head home. When I got here I was shaking, faint and seriously wondering if I was gunna make it. My breathing was shallow, and quick, and I was desperate at the thought of finding the inhaler which, ha ha, was not in the bathroom where it usually is.

I began to cry (I know twice in two days. Forgive me, this was out of complete and utter desperation and not cuz I'd been drinking) and fell to the ground. I grabbed my phone ready to dial 911 when I realized the inhaler was probably in my room in my side dresser. Thankfully it was. Waiting to see whether the inhaler would help was ten seconds I'd rather not live again. But thankfully after a third try I began to breathe again. I sucked in air like it was going out of style. I coughed and sputtered and came back to life.

My mother gave me the best lecture I've ever had about NOT going to the ER. Hah. This from someone who used to tell me I wasn't sick when I was. I really, honestly should have. I ignored the clinic when I had the bad reaction to the meds about the EKG thing. I figured I'd pull through. This one I very nearly could have not come back from. I was headed for coma city right then. It's ok to call in sick to work if you have to. You only call in dead to the studio. I didn't have time for the hospital and their games. So I slept it off a little then got up and did exactly what I had to do. And I'm glad because it was such an amazing and validating feeling. As a lyricist, a songwriter, a musician, and orchestrator.

So now I'm home after seeing Frank again. We went and saw Capitalism: A Love Story and talked politics the rest of the night. It was fun. We made dinner and then watched Fahrenheit 9/11 and I came home to write this, another long entry. Now I'm worked up after being up for 22 hours. I don't WANT to take a Xanie tonight, but I must I think. Ambien in 3 days. This is usually hell week for me, but with the Xanax I've been so blessed to have something in between.
Anyway, that's the latest. Johnny's got a show on Thursday and we'll see how it goes. I've talked to Summer a few times, and we're gunna get together later this week. Bevin and I caught up. And... yeah, bed time.

Night blog.


  1. Hey Kat,
    I'm catching up on my blog reading, babe. Glad you survived your attack. Jesus. How scary.

    Love you,


  2. SB-

    Thanks baby girl. I appreciate it. How's your world? I'm gunna catch up on your blog this evening as well, and I still have to respond to Shane.