Welcome to Clydeville

Welcome back.

Oh, man, this is not looking good.

I was thinking today about how I don't feel beat up like I thought I would. And you know why? Because I'm still in that anger phase -- I'm not sure how to phrase that, by the way. "Anger phase" seems kinda lame.

I think I know what you mean. You're pissed.

I am, and this is where things can get ugly. Man, fuckin' venom, that's what can come out of my mouth and I don't want to infect anybody. Seriously.

I went out tonight to the coffeehouse I go to, and, fuck, I was fuckin' crying while the music was going on. And then afterwards, I'm talking to friends and I'm talking all about this competition and how the folk music world is so fuckin' phony. You know, they all get up there, arm in arm, you know, we're all one big fuckin' family. Nobody ever looks at the ones who don't get to be part of their little chosen club.

So I'm spouting off, you know, and I'm cursin'...

(Sarcastically) I can't imagine!

Hey, eat shit, motherfucker. What I'm sayin' is I'm being bitter and ugly and I don't want to pass that on to my friends. What I really need is somebody I can talk to. Besides you, I mean. I don't mean to slight you. I mean, you've got the fuckin' patience of a saint and you are so much smarter than me...

Huh?

I appreciate you, motherfucker. By the way, I'm giving you a name since you won't tell me your real name. Clyde. I've never known any Clydes before. So welcome to Clydeville, Clyde.

Real nice. Farmboy and Clyde. Sounds like a couple of bluegrass pickers.

So, Clyde, you are smarter than me and calmer than me and a whole lot more patient than me, and...

I can't write songs.

Well, obviously, I can't write them either, Clyde.

Okay, let's not go there. I would like you to try being kind to yourself right now, farmboy. Right now you may need to be in survivor mode, because what this has brought out in you is about more than a contest. You've gone through some kind of trauma. Seriously. Not the contest, but what being rejected brings out in you.

See, I told you. You're smarter'n me, Clyde.

You're pretty smart yourself, farmboy. See? You're joking around a little.

Yeah. It feels good. But I know it's temporary.

But it's here.

I am thankful for that. I know the bitterness, the anger, is gonna come back. Pisses me off.

I wish I had smart advice for you, farmboy. But it's like I said: I'm not a parent or therapist or preacher or even teacher.

You're my friend.

Right.

And I'm glad. Thanks, Clyde.