It’s 1am, and I’m lactose intolerant.
I depend on Chelsea practicing guitar loudly, I depend on Nat playing Zelda loudly, I depend on Conan o’Brian’s audience screaming loudly. I’m sorry for my body, but the worst part of the Trip is … small houses and bathrooms that aren’t in any way separated from the rest of the Living space. I am worried that I may have vibrated the moulding. I’m just so sorry. And makes me worry about coming out of the bathroom – I worry about who might be sitting on the other side of the door – waiting – listening… fearing.
Perhaps they have to go to the bathroom too… perhaps… perhaps they have to go in there, and suffer the wrath of my ass. I’m just so sorry.
Heather’s going to kill me for typing this.
Hee hee hee.
There is night-time drama being played out in the Natty-Bo house. Mariposa, the dog, wants a warm place to sleep. It shouldn’t be TOO hard, as the heat is quite effective in this tiny house, and there is a couch, as well as our bed, which Heather tries to tempt her into… but Mari wants to sleep with Nat. Please Nat? The wet nose is pressed to the door. Nuzzlings and pushings avail nothing. And she returns to us, and Heather resumes a frantic patting, trying to attract the dog – but Mari then goes to Beau and Chelsea’s door. The head pokes in… half the body… everything but the wagging tail, which slows, and slowly droops, and then she backs out.
Heather again picks up with calling the dog, patting the bed, and the dance continues.
Heather’s reading Anne Rice, and I’m just… lying in bed, typing. I was really wired about an hour ago, and I can feel that in me, just lurking beneath the surface, but I know Heather would have no patience with it – and everyone else has gone to bed. Beau and Chelsea seemed a little unnerved when I started acting up. It’s rough when I run across energetic people – sometimes I end up playing the straight guy for a sec – and then as soon as I loosen up, they don’t quite know what to do with me.
January 21st continues…
I woke up this morning in the clutches of a dream. I’ve been dreaming of a lot of bridges, recently – and I’m pretty sure there’s some supposed deep meaning to the whole bridge metaphor when it comes to dream interpretation – transitions, or something… but I’ve never been one who had strong beliefs in psychology. I’ve always felt that most psychology majors I’ve ever met are simply trying to work out their own issues, and they end up using their patients as their sketch-pads. I assume that going from a psych major to a practicing psychologist doesn’t change them much…
Anywho, I’m rambling.
A couple of nights ago, it was a long, shining bridge crossing a river into Philadelphia. It was a pretty spectacular construct, and we’d missed a turn and realized that Philly was only a couple of minutes away. We were going to go visit Shane during our unexpected adventure, but we’d forgotten his phone number.
Last night, the dream was a little more ominous, and leaves me feeling tense. Another missed turn, but this time, it’s repetitious. We’re pretty close to home – I think it’s the 795 exit that we miss, and in the dream, that’s the last exit before this huge bridge – only it’s not a bridge – you pass this one booth and your car is transformed into – almost a canoe thing – suspended from wires like a ski-lift, and then that is what you ride across this HUGE body of water.
Anywho, it’s the third time we’ve done this in a day, and every time we ride across, I get more nerve-wracked about crossing it. It’s kind of windy, and if you’re not just sitting still, it rocks back and forth horribly. I was so frightened – thinking that this was a really stupid way to risk our Lives.
There was a balding fat guy in the thing ahead of us, and he’d gotten pretty bored, and was showing off – leaning way out to one side, or standing up and sort of surfing the canoe thing… I turned away once I saw what the commotion was about – I’d feel the wires jerk, and then I’d hear very distant cheering and applause from the neighbouring cars.
Eventually, I felt the wires REALLY jerk, almost throwing us out of OUR car, and a collective gasp. The man had fallen out, of course. But he didn’t scream the whole way down. It took forever for him to hit, but he was silent the whole way down.
Then I was woken up by a phone call.
Cravings, in Glen Burnie, would like to book us. On the one hand, I don’t really feel in any position to be turning down gigs – and yet on the OTHER hand – it’s right across the street from Thai Gour, and I… well, if I’m driving over there, I’d rather play Thai Gour. I doubt Cravings will compete with the Thai Gour perks – i.e. the food and the pay.
Well, I guess that’s something to discuss with Heather when she wakes up.
It’s a shower day today.
More optimistic day – we’ve gotten two emails about booking ilyAIMY (a booking agent from a club we were interested in will be coming to our gig tonight, and a guy contacted us about a singer/songwriter series in Baltimore called “A Night of Stars”) as well as that phone call from Cravings. Even if none of these items are probably HUGE deals, it’s enough to make me feel wanted.
The shower was nothing short of spectacular. I left steam wraiths in the window, twisting and whining their displeasure at the weather outside. Afterwards, I’m lying on the couch, realizing how long it had been since I had been the listener, sitting in the Living room, slowly falling asleep. Beau is picking out the melodies of half-remembered tunes, practicing finger-picking styles – I’ve forgotten whar it’s like to be the audience, curled in on myself with the dog, losing consciousness.