Practicing for the Funeral.

It's about 3 o'clock in the afternoon on a Thursday. Today is my "Saturday" - the first day of my retail weekend. And so far it's been pretty standard.

I stayed in bed longer than I should have. I then proceeded to remain in my underwear for longer than I wanted to. I aimlessly surfed the web, checking facebook a million times, and hitting my usual favorites in an orderly cycle. Watched Big Boi's performance on Jay Leno. Read an article someone posted I found mildly interesting. Watched another damned movie trailer. The usual, pointless routine.

But today is different. Today is the eve of Hero Pattern's farewell performance, the official end to a long and amazing chapter in my life.

The truth of it - the unfiltered, unedited reality of it - is that I'm angry. I'm disappointed. And I'm beyond looking for a target. That makes it harder. The blame game is a useless exercise, for sure. But when you're playing it, it's a welcome distraction from the facts. And the fact is that Hero Pattern can't go on.

As I write this, I'm listening to unreleased Hero Pattern demos. And DAMN are they good. So damn good it breaks my heart. Pulverizes it. Crying a little now.

Dear reader, allow me this. I never really mourned the end. I'm not sure how to do it properly.

For those of you who haven't experienced the highs and lows of being in a band, I'll try to distill the essence for you into a paragraph:

It's a something of a marriage between four people. In order for it to work, you must be deeply committed to one another. There are no immediate tax benefits. And you generally invest and almost invariably lose boatloads of personal capital. You get to deal with everyone's insecurities and ego-defenses until everything is laid completely bare, warts and all. At that point, it comes down to the music. If - as in the case of Hero Pattern - you are creating music that you love - you'll find a way to look past the negatives (or at least joke about them) and push onward for the love of it all. When you have a great practice, or write an excellent song, or put on a killer show, that's the sex of it. That's the victory. When the people around you let you down, or when things don't work out as planned, well that strengthens your bonds together down in the trenches. It's you - a band of brothers - against the world.

But life gets in the way. Priorities change. And when the disappointments start coming from within your camp, what can you do? Keep banging your head against the same walls? Keep stabbing yourself in the heart forever?

Truly, the high stakes of being in a band, the subconscious pressure that runs through the experience, goes way beyond the financial investment. It's the investment of TIME that has the most significant value. When we officially formed, I was 21 years old. I am now 30 and getting older every second. Adios, my twenties! For the most part, it was great, great fun.

Getting back together with the band to rehearse for this farewell performance has been emotional. The experience has been as comfortable as putting on an old pair of jeans. They still make me look good. I can honestly say that we sound better than we ever did. But there are reasons I had to stop wearing these jeans, and those reasons remain.

There is a lot more I could say. But I think I'm done for now. Thanks to all of you - friends, family and fans - who have shown us love over the years. I'm looking forward to tonight's rehearsal, even if it is our last. And I'm looking forward to the show.

As our former manager Kristin suggested to me, perhaps this will provide some emotional closure on the subject and allow us to move on to the next chapter.

I am counting on that.