The heavy lifting

Okay, so this is the way it is, this is what happened...

What, farmboy, what?

Oh, nothing. I just wanted to start our conversation kinda the same way Ira Glass starts his show. You know, kind of conversational.

And here we are having a conversation! How about that?

Full fuckin' circle, man! It's like Zen or something, you know, man?

So what's up?

Not much. Working on the CD. Practicing. Played Saturday night at the coffeehouse. I didn't forget any words, I was okay. I mean, I didn't totally embarrass myself, you know, it was just partial self-embarrassment.

Boy, you know, I really want to get comfortable with performing once again. I used to really love it, and I still do when my fuckin' nerves and doubts aren't getting the better of me. I hate being afraid to perform. I especially hate all the fuckin' self-doubt: What if I forget the words? What if I fall? What if I can't get my guitar in tune?

What if, what if, what if...

It's fucked, man. It's fuckin' self-sabotage. It's completely useless as far as I can see. But I don't know how to get out of it.

Are you still seeing a counselor, farmboy?

No, but, fuck, I'd like to see one again. I've been thinking that's what I need. Even if it's just a couple times a month.

I think that's a good idea, farmboy.

Yeah, I think I'll look into it. I could discuss this self-sabotage thing. It's in other areas besides performing, man. I may wait till after the holidays, though.

That's fine.

I'm glad I talk to you, man. I feel like I figured something out with your help.

Nah, farmboy. You're the one doing the heavy lifting.

Still, man, thanks.

Solitary confinement

Saturday. I bet that's a good day for you.

It's generally good. I mean, it's good, you know, it's Saturday. I'm in a bit of a rut, though. I do the same thing each Saturday, and they're good things. I smoke dope, I play guitar...

You get on the internet...

I look at porn and end up in bed, jerking off. Then I lay down and listen to a podcast or something, but usually spoken, the human voice talking or telling stories. The best one is that Ira Glass show...

This American Life?

Yeah. That's how I'd like to write some songs, you know, like the writing on This American Life. Anyway, I listen to something then I usually fall asleep an have a nice, long nap. Then I take a shower and get my dirty clothes together and go see my brother and his family. So I have supper with them, wash my clothes, and spend the evening with them. We'll watch a movie or something. I get to see my niece, who is so precious that I can barely believe it. She's one of my favorite people in the whole world.

Anyways, that's my Saturday. All of them.

Not bad. You just want to mix it up a little?

Yeah. I feel like I want to get back to the land of the living. I've been under such solitary confinement for so long -- self-sentenced, of course. Oh, and self-enforced. It's a hard thing to gauge because I need a whole lot of solitude, anyway. I have to have it. I need to be alone more than most people, I think, but you know that being alone, stoned, all the time is not a good way to live. And I feel alienated enough from my fellow species as it is.

I just realized that "species" rhymes with "feces." So it's a songwriting opportunity. Just thought I should share that little tidbit with you.

Gee, thanks.

How are you?

I'm good. But listen...I don't want to seem rude or ungrateful, but this whole interview process is about you. But thanks for asking.

Wait. Now I can't ask how you fuckin' are?

I was afraid of this...

No, no, let's get this out. What the fuck can I ask you? Shall I fill out an application for our friendship? Wait, wait, I forgot! We don't have a friendship. We have an fuckin' interview. We can be so fuckin' appropriate and professional here.

Wait, farmboy...

No, no; let me escalate now. And then I'll be really tired and embarrassed...

And you'll feel beat up...

Yeah, a kid on the receiving end of a leather belt, yeah, yeah, you can see the welts and shit...

Jesus, farmboy! Take a breath. Breathe. What the fuck are you talking about?

(farmboy closes his eyes and breathes deeply several times, then puts his head in his hands. Removing his hands, farmboy looks at the interviewer directly in his eyes, as if daring the interviewer. Then he turns away, and then turns back.)

Save me. You need to help me.

I will.

You really need to be with me in this, you don't know.

I'm with you. Trust me.

I will.