6/11/18 MY OPTOMETRIST DIED

That’s the letter I got in the mail about five years ago now.    

“Mr. Gosselin - 

We regret to inform you Dr. sdjhkjshkjdhsd has passed.  You have been assigned Dr. euyriuewryiue. 

Please contact us immediately to schedule your next appointment.

Sincerely, 

xnbmnxbcmnxb

I don’t know why, but I felt like I didn’t want that to be a thing - I mean, I met the man once.  Don’t even really recall anything besides the general mindfuckery of looking at two identical pictures deciding which one looked “better”.  (I don’t know dude - that’s why I’m here, they both look like a blurry S). 

But, I guess now it is a thing.  I definitely need new glasses.  My night vision is long gone.  (2014, where are you?) - every time I order my new glasses, I think I should make an appointment, or maybe fudge the numbers in a direction and guess how much worse my eyes have become.  That’s a tricky thing to eyeball though (huzzah!) - maybe I’m -0.05 worse?  Who knows, I think I missed that day in Geometry.

These things happen to me all the time though.  For instance - we’re finally recording a new record.  After eight years of EP’s, singles, compilations and close to relentless touring the last several years, I’m now left with the impossible task of picking ten or twelve cohesive songs from the hundreds I’ve written in the meantime.  I’m afraid some of these songs could turn into an odd importance, or become unimportant by the sheer idea that it didn’t work in the context of the others surrounding it - (why was this one left out Chad, you don’t care about Charlie?  Your battle with depression and anxiety? What about your fear of dying without ever seeing the rest of Europe?  Worst yet, childless and alone?)

But here we are - we should be tracking by July.  I’ll send out the postcards in August so we can book some appointments in other cities.  Catch ya soon.