TO ALL WHO REPLIED TO "MY WIFE TOLD ME SHE IS SUICIDAL"

I've been trying to reply to every one, but I can't finish right now. I will reply, I promise. I didn't get very far, but I intend to reply to everyone.

BAYARD, I just wrote you a reply, and I lost it, G.D. When I can get back to this, I'll try to remember what I wrote.

Thank you, my friends. I hope to get back later today.

My wife told me that she is suicidal.

She has chronic pain 24/7. There's little more to her desire to die. She has an rx for a powerful painkiller. I don't know if that factors into her wish to die. I wonder if she has looked up how many of those pills it would take to ease that pain permanently.

It's bad. It's very bad. We've been together 25 years, married for 15 of those, and while she's talked about other suicidal times in her life, she's never talked about it in the present tense.

She sent me a text a few days ago that spelled it out. For some stupid reason, I deleted it. Does anyone know how to recover a deleted text on an Android?

She has a therapist, whom she's seen once in four years. I went with her. I thought it was useless, but then I can't judge her therapy sessions by my own.

I suggested she call the hotline. She declined. She told me something that I thought was going to kill me: she said all she needs is me. I had a sick relationship in college, and her telling me that brought it all back. I felt like my hair was on fire, and I wanted to run screaming.

Thank you for listening and, just by doing so, offering your support.

Post your favorite recording artist or band from outside those of your generation

That is, what you consider your generation for purpose of this music survey.

I share Bob Seger's opinion, assuredly without any offense toward yours.

just take those old records off the shelf
I'll sit and listen to them by myself
today's music ain't got the same soul
I like that old time rock & roll

I'm 62 . . . my music is primarily from the '70s, with some '60s. My favorites from outside my generation are The Cranberries, the B-52s, and Paula Cole. I also really dig Peter Gabriel, but I think it's a reach to call him "outside my generation." And literally - he's only 13 years older than I am.

Tell us - what is your favorite music from outside your generation? And, if you like, the music you dig from within your generation.

What are your hobbies?

Fucking pay attention when I talk to you!

I'm in the middle of telling my wife about the Angels' new clubhouse rule this season, when she interrupts me by getting up and saying "I've got something in my teeth." No "excuse me, sorry," no "hold that thought, tell me when I get back."

She comes back and says "did I tell you what so & so said to me yesterday?" Well, no, asshole, and why would I ? Why would I listen when you'll just blow me off in the middle of my telling you something that's important to me? What's more, it's only baseball. Who gives a rat's ass what the Angels are doing in the clubhouse? Who cares what the hoped-for consequences will be.

It's only baseball, probably the most important thing in my life besides my family and the survival of this country and her citizens.

All things considered, it's small thing about which I'm having this internal snarly discussion.

But be a decent human being. At least pretend you're listening to me, and excuse yourself from the discussion with a quick "excuse me" or something like it. Then exercise this muscle: "Ok, what were you saying?"

Or am I the bitch?

Passive-Aggressive BS

Mick is a guy I met in the partial hospitalization program I was in a couple of years ago. Somehow he learned that he and I lived on the same street.

He appeared at my door a couple of times, asking for money for food. Being who I am, how could I say no? I gave him a twenty the first time he asked; a ten the second. But my wife was pissed - not at me but at Mick.

The next time the doorbell rang after dark, Kathy answered the door. They got into a heated argument in which several "fuck yous" were thrown about. He hasn't come to the door since then.

However, we believe he's come to our house to vandalize things. My front license plate was bent twice. Our trash and recycling bins* were moved to the driveway, directly behind my car. (Minor, but irritating.)

The latest insult was that we found the backyard flooded one afternoon. Our sprinklers don't work, but they seep at an astounding rate. Little fish could've swam among the grass, I swear.

We've bought a group of tiny cameras to put up around the outside of our house, but none of us can figure out how they work. I think my music teacher can figure it out (this just occurred to me: if he can teach me music theory so that I can understand it, surely he can figure out our cameras).

How passive-aggressive is this BS?!

* The member of our household whose job it is to bring in the bins does so in the dark of morning as they don't like to be seen.

Follow up to "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

I must thank everyone who weighed in on my hotel debacle. You offered condolences and sincere good wishes and birthday happiness and love. I appreciate you all.

I got the apology I hoped for - but in this form: she was abjectly sorry, apologizing for ruining my birthday. That was good.

But it was you all who applied the balm I truly needed. Thanks again.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Today I learned that the hotel at which I made a reservation for my birthday (tomorrow - the 22nd) used my debit card to reserve my reservation - not to use it for payment. I could beat my head against the wall.

We now lack the money to pay for our single-night reservation. Not only that, but if we cancel, we still owe the price of our room.

It was to have been a quiet evening, with restful sleep, and a quiet morning with breakfast from room service.

I don't know how we'll celebrate now. I don't want a party: the whole point of escaping to a hotel was for peace and quiet. I love my roommates but peace and quiet are nice. (They probably wish the same from us.)

So, if you will, please wish me a birthday of peace and quiet.

So very homesick for Maryland

Before today, my avatar was the flag of The Golden State. I've changed it to that of Maryland.

I'm a native Californian. I lived in Maryland for 15 years, and I've been back home now for almost nine years.

I changed my avatar because, although I'll never move out of California again, I am deeply homesick for Maryland. There we lived in Waldorf, in a house that was built for us and which was perfect. It was on slightly more than an acre of land. Except for a decent space for a backyard, our land was in trees.

I was introduced to fireflies - glorious! - and almost cried the first time I saw them. They were beautiful, and I'd stand on the deck at twilight, waiting for the first firefly to appear.

I was also introduced to cicadas, which did not make me cry. If we were to enjoy our deck, I had to take a half a xanax, fearing that one might fly into me and land in my cleavage. I happened to live in MD for the appearance of the 17-year cicadas. Oh, my god, they were everywhere - as I'm sure most of you know. Somehow one of them got in through the cat door, but the cats killed it before I decided we had to move.

Coinciding with the emergence of the brood in 2013 was (apparently) the first bonus my DC employer* had ever distributed to staff. Fun fact: It became known as The Cicada Bonus.

Cicadas and DC law firms aside, I loved living in Maryland with all my heart. Returning to California broke my heart a little, but I had to come home. And I'm happy to be home, yet homesick for Maryland. Odd.

* A law firm which shall remain nameless

Remembering Memory

I have a problem memory - a seriously problem memory - which is due to six weeks of electro-convulsive therapy in 2023. I know it was in '23 because I couldn't remember whether my best friend,* Dale, had been at my 60th birthday bash that year. Of course he had, coming down from Portland, OR (to Orange Co., CA) to be with me and to be among my guests. But oh, how it killed me to have to ask him if he'd been there.

It's been especially bad to hear about a concert I "missed:" we saw Bette Midler in her Divine Intervention Tour at the Verizon Center in Washington, DC in 2015.

Kathy (my wife) and I watched The First Wives Club tonight, and after it ended, she said "I wish you remembered when we saw Bette Midler." I stared at the floor in disbelief, then began to cry. Kathy said "I shouldn't have told you." I don't remember what I said to her, besides disagreeing. I hope I didn't say something that hurt her.

I had no idea that I'd seen The Divine Miss M. 😢

The I missed another concert - Shawn Colvin's. Apparently I've seen her twice. I remember seeing her once, although I don't remember when or where. But to learn that I missed one of her shows was pretty rough on me because so much of her music moves me - her lyrics make their way into my heart and resonate there.

Have you experienced any thing that's cost you your memory?

* Fortunately, I will always remember that my other best friend, Lisa, from Maryland, had shocked my ass at the front door. That's when I learned she was coming to the bash. I had no idea. My family's very good at keeping secrets. I doubt I'd remember her being there if she hadn't shown up unannounced.