(no subject)
It's not that I keep many secrets in life. There are just some things I don't figure I should mention, so I don't. Now Dave has everyone thinking I've got 8 bodies buried in my basement or that I eat soap or something, it makes for a nice story to tell to clear that up.
When the Verve split up, a number of things changed in my life, in all our lives, really. You’d think the problems would come up during a time-consuming career, but the problems with my wife didn’t come up till after it was over. I guess inevitably the problems were there when I was with the band, but I was never around to see them.
I got married in my early 20s, and it strikes me on and off that we were both too young and foolish to know what we were getting into. We hardly knew each other, and never discussed exactly what we wanted from the marriage and the future. Maybe it was more that she didn’t know what she was getting into. All she knew was that I was in a band, but she didn’t realise I’d be gone the majority of our marriage, rehearsing, recording, touring. She never spoke of how she felt about it until after the Verve had ended. She offered her condolences, but it was followed by, “Now you can stay home, Simon, and we can really start a family.” I didn’t really respond then, but I think it was the first time I realised exactly how different we were, and how marriage put that in a glaringly harsh light now that I was facing up to it.
Agreeing to join The Shining with Si Jones may not have been the wisest move on my part for my marriage, but it let my wife know exactly where I stood without me actually having to say the words. She sat at home in London and I sat in a cold hotel room on a tour, and when I phoned her, her voice was distant and shaky. “You really can’t give it up, can you?” she asked me with accusation in her tone. I felt terrible that I had left her on her own so much, that I had abandoned the blind vows I agreed to, and as we both knew she was leaving, I think we agreed for the first time that our plans for the future were too different right now.
Even now, I don’t know what I want in life. It’s not that I don’t want a family and little ones running around, but I don’t feel I’ve seen enough of the world yet. Everyone’s right, I am young, and I don’t want to someday resent anyone that comes along and takes my roaming privileges away. I don’t resent my wife right now. I ring her still and finger the wedding band that’s around my finger as I hear her voice. I think she resents me for taking away what could have been the nicest years of her life, but she won’t say as much. Ironically, she’s never mentioned divorce, and neither have I.
When all the Blur girls started appearing, I thought of her. Of calling her up and telling her to fly over so she could travel around with us, but she hates traveling. Her job keeps her London bound, and I think she has a fear of flying. It’s a lie to say I’m not envious of the others and their families, though not always the picture of perfection. You only think of how much you’re lacking when you find yourself talking to no one while the telly plays listlessly in the background. But hell, it’s good song writing material.
When the Verve split up, a number of things changed in my life, in all our lives, really. You’d think the problems would come up during a time-consuming career, but the problems with my wife didn’t come up till after it was over. I guess inevitably the problems were there when I was with the band, but I was never around to see them.
I got married in my early 20s, and it strikes me on and off that we were both too young and foolish to know what we were getting into. We hardly knew each other, and never discussed exactly what we wanted from the marriage and the future. Maybe it was more that she didn’t know what she was getting into. All she knew was that I was in a band, but she didn’t realise I’d be gone the majority of our marriage, rehearsing, recording, touring. She never spoke of how she felt about it until after the Verve had ended. She offered her condolences, but it was followed by, “Now you can stay home, Simon, and we can really start a family.” I didn’t really respond then, but I think it was the first time I realised exactly how different we were, and how marriage put that in a glaringly harsh light now that I was facing up to it.
Agreeing to join The Shining with Si Jones may not have been the wisest move on my part for my marriage, but it let my wife know exactly where I stood without me actually having to say the words. She sat at home in London and I sat in a cold hotel room on a tour, and when I phoned her, her voice was distant and shaky. “You really can’t give it up, can you?” she asked me with accusation in her tone. I felt terrible that I had left her on her own so much, that I had abandoned the blind vows I agreed to, and as we both knew she was leaving, I think we agreed for the first time that our plans for the future were too different right now.
Even now, I don’t know what I want in life. It’s not that I don’t want a family and little ones running around, but I don’t feel I’ve seen enough of the world yet. Everyone’s right, I am young, and I don’t want to someday resent anyone that comes along and takes my roaming privileges away. I don’t resent my wife right now. I ring her still and finger the wedding band that’s around my finger as I hear her voice. I think she resents me for taking away what could have been the nicest years of her life, but she won’t say as much. Ironically, she’s never mentioned divorce, and neither have I.
When all the Blur girls started appearing, I thought of her. Of calling her up and telling her to fly over so she could travel around with us, but she hates traveling. Her job keeps her London bound, and I think she has a fear of flying. It’s a lie to say I’m not envious of the others and their families, though not always the picture of perfection. You only think of how much you’re lacking when you find yourself talking to no one while the telly plays listlessly in the background. But hell, it’s good song writing material.