Bella is taking it hard baby. She’s being crowded, she’s overwhelmed by the attention. She cried to me to make it normal again. Normal, funny. My hate for Normal. But she’s right. I need to make it normal again. For her. She couldn’t do it herself. She’s only 13. How could I put that kind of pressure on her. I take care of it, gracefully. I love you all, we both do, we all do for all the support you have shown us. You are an amazing group of friends. There’s so much positive energy surrounding me. It’s pulsating back at me. All the positive energy I put out into the world, is now coming back to me. I said it earlier, I’m high on it. Your legendary death brought all this on. We’re receiving it from the expected and the unexpected. An old acquaintance, a past professor of mine, someone we lost touch with, our best friends. Every time I ponder an instance and how to address it, solve it, resolve it; someone appears with an answer. It’s fucking nuts. I ask myself a question about how to deal with a problem. Not a day passes, someone somehow either provides the wisdom, or inspires the wisdom.
Today, it was Bella’s turn. She met a friend from our past. She too lost her parent at a young age. They talked. They related. They felt the same feelings. You can lose someone dear to you and assume you’re relating. It’s not even close. At that age? At their age?
Woke up this morning, on time. Finally the alarm worked. Dumbass never set it. Dumbass thought he set it. He didn’t. Fucking idiot. I looked on my bedside table, I see my rings, my broken beads that you bought me. I need to fix them. They’re all collected in my wrist band sitting on the table.
I’m laying in bed every night writing you these letters. But this time around I started a little earlier. I started jotting down notes.
I was waiting for an old friend to stop by and have a drink with and a chat about what I assumed to be parenthood, life, the usual. Man I hate usual. How boring is that. The usual. Every day. Every fucking day. Usual. Think about that for a minute. Being “Usual.” Nothing special. Being predictable is usual, safe, normal, average, same, blah. Yeah, that’s how I want to live my life. Never. That’s fucking boring. Where’s the fun in that? You have no contribution to the world. A dime a dozen. You, who likes to play it safe. You know who you are. You’re afraid to let go. To be free. Perceived acceptance by your society around you. They’re still talking about you behind your back dumbass, just as much as you talk them behind their back. Fucking “civil” society. Fuck that. I will not live by your hypocritical rules. By your two-faced rules. Fuck your rules.
Be unpredictable. Be unsafe. It’s fucking liberating. You haven’t tasted “Freedom” until you become exactly that. Have fun. Laugh it off. Don’t be so fucking serious all the time. Chill. Stress free. Complete and utter Freedom.
Went into the studio to meet with Elizabeth, Collin and Rich about Bogart’s. They fill me in on cost breakdowns and our proposal. You chose Elizabeth and Collin. You’re advice to me. You trusted them. They’ll have my back. I have to say, they’re doing a pretty good job. I’m impressed.
I can’t wait for us to open it up. I’m busting. It’ll become the Creative Mecca. I smile every time I envision it in my head. We’re still having fun at the studio, but this will be that much more fun.
I’m knee deep in debt. I keep investing my money back into our agency. New Ventures. New projects. Something will take off. All light weight, but legitimate business models. I invest time and money in each. Invest back in your company. Make it stronger. Sacrifice the debt. Something will hit. Something will catch on fire. We’re just living on fumes.
The other night I started to think about starting a blog along side my letters here. I bought a domain. Ironically the same day, Lisa Wolf Borisoff texted me and said “you need to start a blog mother fucker.” Okay Lisa, maybe you didn’t say that last part, but it sounded better. I took creative liberties. I made it better.
It’s not ready yet. I just built it at work in middle of ideating, managing, operating, creating, you know, the unusual.
There is so much to do it. I will do a little at a time every day in between work. Shit. We need resources. And no Ginger Kochmer, I love you, but don’t call me. This is different. This is personal.
I stopped at the Polak’s house on my way home to pay my respect. Scott Polak had lost his mother the same week you left me. Sharon Solomon Polak greeted me at the door and Scott following her. They welcome me into their home. We sit in the living room. Scott explains the events leading up to it. We chat about Gabe and Bella. I explain a little about my pains as a parent trying to take the pain away.
We said our goodbyes and I drive around the block to our house. I wanted to work out, but couldn’t.
I found Bella in her room. She’s not feeling well. Minor stuffy nose and sore throat.
I feel at peace baby. I really do. You’ve made your death easy on me. You inspired me. You sacrificed your life for me. If that’s not True Love, I don’t know what else you would call it.
My list grows every day. I can’t write fast enough. I wish I wrote faster for you. I see the list below each line I type.
Good night my sweet.
I love you,
Me
PS: I forgot to mention, Gabe Marie and Dominic Cristelli are collaborating on a music video. Dom is handling Social Distribution, G is handling the production. All of it 🙂 My boy. Deep, just like his father. I love it.
