Day 21 – “Breaking Up With Kipp” – February 3, 2000

Gretchen Wigan, a massage therapist who does intuitive touch on both Kipp and me, was working on my legs Wednesday when she mentioned, “I’m picking up relationship energy really strongly in your ankles.” Her room was a womb – dark, warm and soothing. A candle flickered in the corner. She continued, “If you stay in this relationship, you’re gonna lose yourself.” The statement was bold and rang true from my feet to my head. The words she gave breath to were already beating in my heart (and apparently my ankles) when she said them.

I’ve been folding my life into his for the better part of two years despite knowing, days after we hooked up while on an ecstasy trip in Crested Bute’s backcountry, we were probably wrong for one another. But by then, I already adored him—his humor, his strength, his heart, his sense of adventure, and his generosity and it wasn’t just the ecstasy talking. Of course, he was out of my wheelhouse. I’d never dated someone so blatantly alpha — so macho, bold, and self-assured. Perhaps, I remember thinking at the time, I should go against my instincts and date against my grain. Maybe the guys I’m intrinsically attracted to have all been wrong for me because I have a bad picker. But nearly two years in, the love was bleached out of our relationship and my insecurities had magnified tenfold. Though Kipp is a glorious soul and fun as all hell, the light he shines on my character leaves me feeling so broken that I grow more and more convinced I’m lucky that Kipp even puts up with me. Of course, I don’t blame him solely for my insecurities. The smoldering embers of my unworthiness were with me way before Kipp came on the scene. I only mean that his presence amplifies my self-doubt and leaves me feeling hopeless.

And now my ankles were screaming for Gretchen to say what my heart had failed to convince me. It was time for this to be over. He wore a faceless expression on his bald head. “Come here,” I beamed with a smile across a universe of emotions. I held him when I said, “Maybe we should think seriously about whether we want to stay together.” He knew this was coming. It had been a cold slap through the phone when I’d asked if I could come over to talk about the health of our relationship.

“I’m sure I want to stay together, “Kipp said robotically, muffled into the crook of my elbow. I swallowed hard and spoke from my ankles when I finally owned my long-resisted truth
“Then, I guess, I mean, I guess I need to think seriously about whether I want to stay with you.” It was painful and I don’t know which bothered me more—that I was burning a bridge I’d help build, or hurting someone I loved deeply and truly.

“It seems to me,” I continued, “That we’re driving each other crazy and have been for a while. It’s hard to know whether we’re growing from the pain we’re causing one another, or just chipping away at what’s essential in each other. You know?” He didn’t know.

I drove away through the canyon through tears, to the studio where the hours trickled by. The slow ones itched. The fast ones bled. I couldn’t mention the breakup to the rest of the band. Some of them are Kipps housemates and at best it would only be a distraction— one we couldn’t afford at the rate we’re tracking. I floated amongst my bandmates like gristle in an otherwise healthy soup. Back in my office of a bathtub, I found the misery that loves company, very lonely inside of me.

We worked on vocals the rest of the day. We’d been working on them all week. The one exception was when Maceo Parker (James Brown’s saxophone player) came to the studio on Super Bowl Sunday to lay down tracks on “Dvoren” and “Forty Years.” What an honor! I knit him a hat to say thank you when he refused any other form of payment. He promptly regifted it to his manager Natasha.

After 10 hours of working on the vocal track for, “For Kim,” Michael and I agreed we needed a break from sound and went to town for dinner. As we drove through the dark canyon, shadows of pines raced out of the way of our headlights. Up ahead in the valley, airplanes looked like fireflies dancing over Denver’s International Airport.

Mike and I sat across from one another in a dark booth over Vietnamese food trying to explain why recording has been moving at a snail’s pace. The album release date* (April 15th) is a mere two months away, and from the corner booth at Chez Thuy, that time frame seems ridiculously ambitious if not straight up hilarious. The budget, well we’ve long since gone over that. But how is it, working 12-hour days – 7 days a week, we’re not further along by now? I don’t mention that I think Michael’s chewing habits are a metaphor for the pace of our production as he digs into a plate of banh xeo. We’re both exhausted and on top of that, I’m sad.

Back at the studio with fresh ears and a full belly, I find myself back in my bathtub, trying to psych myself up to sing another take of “For Kim” when my heart wants to shatter. I don’t know whether to call Kipp or let it lie. I recline in the empty, porcelain tub asking my Magic 8 Ball for answers. It’s reply? “Ask again later” and “Better not tell you now.”

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FOOTNOTES:

*Release date- The projected date of an album release after all the elements have been completed: 1. Preproduction 2. Recording 3. Mixing 4. Album Artwork 5. PR campaign 6. Mastering 7. Booking the promotional tour 8. Pressing the CD 9. Sending merchandise to retail