It's late

You're back, farmboy!

Yeah. How're you doing, man?

Good. How are you doing?

I'm so fuckin' tired that I can barely see straight.

So let's talk tomorrow. Go get some rest, farmboy.

You too, man. It's late.

Five first drafts

farmboy! Good to hear from you.

Man, it's good to hear your voice. I'm still in California. I just wanted to check in.

How's it going?

It's been okay. I've seen friends, seen family. Still worried about financial stuff, and it's spoiled some of this trip, but it could be worse. Thank God for anxiety meds, addictive as they may be.

On the good side, I've written five first drafts for songs so far.

That's great!

Feels so fuckin' good, man. I think I'll have some good core material. I'll share them with you when I get home later this week.

So how are you doing, man? How's the great Pacific Northwest?

Good, good. Nice warm weather.

Great! Look, I'm sorry, but I've gotta cut this short. I'm on someone else's cell phone and I hate to take advantage.

Have a safe trip home, farmboy. Call me when you get back, okay?

Sure thing, man. Take care. Good talkin' with you.

Like you're family. Which you are.

Hey, man!

I was hoping you'd call, farmboy! How is Cali?

Nobody in California ever pronounces it "Cali." But the family reunion was fuckin' great. There were mariachis there and all this family and all this real Mexican food. Fuckin' great, man.

How's everything else?

I tell you, man, what I wouldn't fuckin' give for some kind of miracle to come along and help me with this money situation. Let me tell you, man, I'm beginning to worry like you wouldn't believe. But the last couple of days have been good. Lots of partying but also lots of sitting on my sister's front porch playing guitar.

That's good. The guitar playing part, I mean.

Yeah. This worrying fuckin' sucks, man. I kinda wish I had fuckin' been laid off so I could at least collect some of this unemployment I've been paying into for the last...well, for a long, long time. Man, this stress, this worrying is fuckin' killing me.

My older brother -- the one who had the stroke -- is looking great, though. I'm hoping to get to hang out with him and his wife this coming week. And my sister and her family are doing great. It's so good to see family.

I bet. Sounds like you've got a good one, farmboy.

Oh, I do, and I'm very thankful. I'm calling from my sister's house, from Santa Paula over in Ventura County. And this is on her dime, so I'm going to have to split pretty soon. How're you doing, brother.

Brother? I'm flattered.

Well, I feel close to you, man. Like you're family. Which you are.

Thanks, farmboy. That makes me feel good. It's all been going well here, no rain, sunshine. It's August in the Pacific Northwest.

Sounds good, man. Hey, take care, and hopefully I'll call you in a couple of days.

I'll look forward to it.

You take care, man. Adios.

family reunion, Santa Paula, California

my California

all these people, family

lots of Mexicans!

I am the uncle

I play songs on my guitar

I sing kids to sleep

brothers and sister

cousins, nieces, nephews, friends

I belong with them

Forcing myself to have hope

Look, man, I'm sorry about my state of mind lately. Yesterday I just was in this anxiety state where I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry.

It's okay, farmboy. It's more than okay. It gave me this glimpse into you, into what you call your "mental illness." It must be a living hell for you when...I'm not sure how to put it...

It is mental illness. I know this.

What happens is that I become somebody really...out of control. And it is a frightening thing after it's gone. It feels like I have no control over it. It fuckin' escalates and escalates and...it's like I sort of "wake up;" I de-escalate, I guess. And hope that I haven't done too much damage to other people or myself.

It's fucked. It's really fucked. Nobody can have any idea what it's like.

I'm sorry, farmboy.

We're just sorry creatures, aren't we?

I just wanted to apologize. I didn't want to leave for California without talking to you.

California? That's right, I remember now -- you're going to your family reunion at your sister's place.

Santa Paula, California. I love that town. I spent a lot of time there in happier days, when i was younger. When life had promise.

You have happy days in front of you, farmboy.

I don't know, man. I just don't know anymore, and that scares me. I feel like I'm forcing myself to have hope, and that all the evidence is pointing the other way. The hopeless way. I feel like all my trying is in vain. I mean, I'm kinda back to normal now, but hope, man...it's still so fuckin' scarce.

I feel bad, too, 'cause I get angry and then I curse. And I don't mean words like "fuck" and that kind of thing. Those are pretty fuckin' harmless. (laughs) It's, you know, taking the Lord's name in vain, that kind of stuff...

You don't think God can handle that?

Oh, I know He can, but...I don't know...

God forgives you, farmboy. You, on the other hand, have a much harder time.

I know.

Did you apologize to God?

I did, yeah.

Then let it go and move on.

Okay.

You're pretty hesitant there, farmboy.

It's the best I can do, man.

Are you going to be all right to go to California, farmboy?

I think so. I almost called it off, but, fuck, what's that gonna do?

Are you packed?

Just about.

Remember to take your clonazepam...your anxiety meds.

They're in there, believe me.

And don't be afraid to take them if you need to. All right, farmboy?

I won't.

I'm serious. And take it easy down there. Don't stress yourself out unnecessarily. Be with your family. Be with your friends. These people love you.

Yeah...

There are phones there...

I'll have my cell phone with me.

Do you have a lap top?

No. I can't afford things like that, man.

Well, if you're at somebody's house checking your email, drop me a line, let me know how you're doing. Call anytime, day or night.

I will, man. Thanks.

Have fun, okay?

Okay.

Remember, even if I'm not there, I'm still with you. Just think of me supporting you.

Thanks, man.

You be good now, okay?

(farmboy starts tearing up)

It's gonna be okay, farmboy. Think of that Bob Marley song:

Don't worry about a thing

'Cause every little thing gonna be all right

Thanks, man.

...like a fuckin' deformed puppy

I am so glad you called, farmboy. I have been so worried...

I'm sorry. I just couldn't fuckin' do it any longer.

Do what?

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Every fuckin' thing I do turns to shit.

farmboy...

Look, okay, I'm not gonna kill myself, okay? I shouldn't have mentioned anything. But it's not just money and it's not just that I...I don't know what...I think maybe I need to stop going to the coffeehouse for awhile...maybe a long while.

See, what I meant is that I may have to do some research about the various ways of killing yourself, because there's a good chance that that's where my life will lead. I can't do this forever, this...life of fuckin' poverty, where people are just out there with their fuckin' hands open for more money all the fuckin' time and our own fuckin' government has turned into our enemy. Things don't change for me. This is my fuckin' curse in life, man. You fuckin' work and put in effort and none of it means a fuckin' thing. And I do not see what my alternative is. I'm gonna be old and I will have no one to help me, much less our fuckin' government.

Well, fuck all these people, and fuck the hand of fate that gave me such a fucked-up childhood...

Wait a minute. You've never told me...

And I'm not gonna tell you now. Ain't no way. Fuckin' fucked up life of loneliness. I've fuckin' had it. Even my so-called friends at the coffeehouse -- fuck them. They ask me to play and then take it back? I don't see them taking themselves back. The only fuckin' thing I'm good at and God knows I'm just a fuckin' failure...

farmboy, stop...

NO!

I am so fuckin' angry. I should have been drowned...

farmboy...

...like a fuckin' deformed puppy, man. Fuck the coffeehouse, fuck the fuckin' public school system in this stupid fucked-up city. I should have never left Austin, man. Fuck the Pacific Northwest and its pretentious precious ways.

Listen, farmboy...

I am NOT gonna listen. I need help, man. I've got this fuckin' mental illness, I've got this fuckin' poverty, I am alone, I am ugly, I am untalented, I am stupid, all that stuff everybody told me I was. I cannot sing. Make sure I don't sing. (starts sobbing) Fuck, man, I have so much hate right now that's it's ripping my heart apart...

farmboy...

And you can't help me. Nobody can help me. I should have put myself out of my misery a long long time ago. There are some things that can't be fixed, and I am one of them.

I need to go, man. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't worry, I'm too much of a fuckin' pussy to commit suicide. But I can't fuckin' take this brain of mine any more.

Hey, farmboy, it's...

(the phone is hung up on farmboy's end)

Suicide may be a viable option

farmboy! Good to see you. Feeling any better than yesterday?

No. Feeling just as bad if not worse. I've come to the conclusion that suicide may be a viable option after all.

(alarmed) You're not serious...

Let's just say I have this in my mind for the future. Because, from the way I see things, nothing ever really fuckin' changes. And I may need to do some research because this is the way my life seems to go. This doesn't change. I go through these periods of bad luck or something...It never evens out and there aren't enough good things to make up for the shit. (starts to cry) Fuck, man. I'm sorry. I think I'm being punished for something...

farmboy...

I'm sorry. I'm fuckin' worthless. I should have been drowned when I was a baby. That's what they do to puppies, you know. When they don't measure up...

Listen, farmboy, take a deep breath...

It's too late, man. I'm sorry.

(farmboy leaves and goes outside and gets in his truck. The interviewer follows him. farmboy turns the ignition key and the truck starts.)

farmboy, wait!

(tears are streaming down farmboy's face)

I'm sorry.

(farmboy drives away)

farmboy!