Guess it comes apart so little by little, don't know you're there til you're stuck in the middle.

[raybear]

What a difference a day makes. Or a good day at work paired with a therapy session then topped off with relaxed but rejuvenating evening out. Let's move backwards, shall we?

I was a bit nervous all evening about not getting to T's until 11 pm or so, doubting my ability to sustain not only a conversation but also my capacity to stand that late in the evening. But walking into a bar and realizing you pretty much know over half the people in the room and the other half are familiar and known to be cool folks has a way of perking me up. I went right to the bar, not so much because I immediately needed a drink, but Damon was sitting there so I focused my attention on him first before getting pulled into the whirlwind of social interactions I knew would come later. I'd like to say I ponied up to the bar, but I think I stumbled attempting to sit on the stool. Ah well. I could list all the livejournal people there, but that would be excessive. Let's just leave it at "lots".

Prior to T's, I was at Old Town School of Folk Music to see a free performance as part of their Afro-Folk series. I felt a little self-conscious at first but quickly rectified the situation by removing my rubber collar, then sat back and enjoyed the performance of drumming and dancing. dommeyourass gave me occasional commentary on what they did, seeing as I know precious little on the subjects.

I was supposed to take a disco nap pre-Old Town and post-therapy, but after laying down for 15 minutes, I was too energized. So instead I did something I hadn't in a very long time. I pulled out my guitar, tuned it up, and played. I even went through a couple storage boxes and pulled out some songbooks and guitar chord printouts with song lyrics (could I have been more of a lesbian? Everyting was Indigo Girls and Shawn Colvin and Mary Chapin Carpenter and Dar Williams.) Most of my time was spent on learning a Steve Earle song that's been stuck in my head nonstop since yesterday. So much so that I woke up and the first thing I wanted to do (and did do) was play and sing it. Someting about sitting on my couch in boxers at 8 am with a guitar singing with my gravelly morning voice made me want a cigarette and chocolate cake, but I resisted both temptations.

Playing was a bit like riding a bike -- while my fingers swelled and burned from the lack of callouses and picking wasn't always clean nor where my chord transitions the speediest, I still managed to sound alright. I was always a better guitar player than piano player, even though I took weekly professional piano lessons for EIGHT years and I taught myself guitar in less than a year. So if anyone needs my services for some sing-a-long action, summer is here which means campfires and rousing group renditions of "Closer to Fine" and "Cat's in the Cradle" and lots of Jesus-y songs too I still have stored in my fingers.

Therapy was therapy. Good times were had by all.

That pretty much brings us current. In a backwards way.

Comments

[katemosey.livejournal.com]

I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper and I was freeeee!

Yeah, at my wedding, in which the guest list was heavily populated by lesbian couples, Closer To Fine was a big hit when played.
There was much lip-synching.