Faith moans about the band.

Today is turning into one of those days where I just wish I could sink into the ground and die. In fact, this has been an entire week of that feeling. On Sunday, I met Kiall to discuss my place in the band he's made. I didn't think that my presence was at all necessary and I was entirely aware that he agreed with me, albeit a carefully unvoiced opinion. He spent 3 hours trying to convince me that I was not going to be asked to leave, in the questionably appropriate setting of a Cafe Nero in town and fuelled by the warmth of four chai lattes, and promised that he wouldn't betray my trust by being wrong on this occasion. I find it increasingly difficult to trust his word, but I can't help but be that person who doesn't learn from their mistakes. In a foreseeable turn of events, only hidden from me by my own insurmountable denial of Kiall Wheatley's indecency, he today informed me that I am no longer welcome in the blues band he has formed despite my inability to contribute anything. He says that Sharon doesn't want to compete with me as a vocalist, or work with young musicians, and so it would be best if I left. I can't help but think, even though I realise that I was the first to suggest my leaving, that this is not what I wanted at all. I told him that I didn't want to leave, but that if that were what he wanted, then I'd rather I stopped now. I just got a text from him saying:

 'I had fun playing with you. We shouldn't stop altogether. Besides, we still have gigs.'

I'm no musician. I'm no vocalist or mandolin player, really. No one wants me and, despite all the promises he made me that he would never ask me to leave, he has. I don't know what I'm expected to do now, except maybe petrol bomb all of their homes/housevans.

Over and out.