Ah, …Brazil. A week of working non-stop. Everyday press and public appearances; TV and radio. Holing up in my room, trying to sleep through the night. I had some pretty potent sleepers to get me through. It seemed like the more I slept, the less rested I felt. Could have been the workload and pressure. Finally, we played the festival on a Saturday, partied (so-called) on Sunday, floated the day away on Monday, and boarded our flight that evening for home. Many days, much talking, much riding in vans through the endless Sao Paulo traffic jammed streets. I learned a new form of aggressive driving while riding around Sao Paulo. It takes ages to get anywhere. Our hosts were about the nicest, most caring, honest and giving people I have ever met. My experience was as fabulous as any place I have ever been. I cannot express the warmth I felt with the crew from Sao Paulo. There are 22 million people in Sao Paulo, Brazil. As for the Interferon and Ribavirin, I can’t say I was much affected by it, other than the always present fatigue I have everyday. The flying kicks my ass; ten hours on one flight, and another 3 or 4 on the second one. Upon arrival at LAX, I don’t know what day it is or if it’s morning or evening. I’m glad to be home, but a dangerous situation is looming unseen. The fatigue, the stress of travel, the loneliness of a hotel room, the challenge of getting to sleep, are all building a powder keg in my psyche. For a while I have harbored malicious feelings of jealousy and entrapment….but now we move to Week 9.
It doesn’t take long this time for Angela to throw down and say she’s had enough! It’s a good thing in the end because we are finally going to talk about the rot that is building up inside me. I guess it’s about Wednesday or Thursday. We face each from our desks after a brief exchange of bitterness. She cries, she sobs, she tells me I’m torturing her with criticism. I am blaming her for everything I perceive as wrong with my life. I am assigning fault to Angela for a) having kids in the first place, b) the way they behave, c) decorating our house (not to my specs), d) buying food at the store that I would never eat in a million years, e) and, maybe, for loving me without reservation. As she explains her unhappiness through her tears, I see my arguments vanish as if they were all conceived by a self-centered moron. Ok, some of my complaints are reasonable, but the bottom line is as plain as the nose on your face. I’ve been working on a bad play with a bad dialogue and a bad ending. All inside, well hidden, except for the constant negativity.
When you have a true partner there’s not much you can’t overcome because the will is there. So I spill the whole story. I’m jealous. I don’t want to share her. I want to have a say in all our decisions. Most of all, I trust you, but I need to be an equal. She knows exactly what I am saying. She loves me and she lets me know it right away. We understand each other. She is very strong. I am very lucky. We got over the top of the mountain. We can go on as a better team. The funny thing is, once I told all the dark secrets, none of it bothers me anymore. At the end of the week we went to Vegas for Sister Kim’s wedding.
I’m having great difficulty doing anything normal. Eating food can be unpleasant. Or unpleasant later. It seems to take forever to digest a meal. My solution; eat less volume. Sleeping without an aid is holy hell. Sometimes just breathing is impossible. I feel weak and half-boiled. At mid-day I become almost comatose. I’m putting on a good front though.