I can’t sing along to We’re About 9. I start to cry.
Of course, that’s been my reaction to a lot of my world recently. Just overwhelmed by emotions… it’s a recurring theme that maybe requires some explanation, especially since my USUAL mood is one of barely-diverted world-ending depression. If I had a good explanation, I’d give it… you’ll just have to put up with the mystery. Just as I will.
We played the Takoma Park Folk Festival, and despite a pretty severe sunburn that’s left me feeling feverish and nauseus and weak and headachey, I’ve reconfirmed the belief that most all of the best performers in the world are friends of ours.
We had a good show, despite multiple string breakages on my part – we even pretty much sold out of CDs. People really seemed to Love us. But the highlight of the day for me was definately We’re About 9. I finally got to see the whole trio again… it was like some sort of homecoming. Even my Mom came out to the show, Audrey and Rick – Aaron’s home too. Shame I didn’t think about that whole sun thing. With so many “ethnic” band members, there’s simply NO excuse for ME to be the one stuck outside the shade of the pavilion.
Even hours after getting in out of the sun, I’m still feeling pretty sick to my stomach. Though, I’m suspicious of the bread I had for breakfast, too… I noticed it looked kind of funny half-way through eating it and then threw it out… (Mara! check yer loaves!)
There’s an email in my inbox that I’m frightened to read. It could be really good, or it could crush me. Could be somewhere in between. Unfortunately, I told Outlook to “Organize” it into Pennsylvania, and for some reason, it’s causing the whole thing to lag horribly. It’s like someone is showing me the envelope and holding it JUST out of reach. Viscerally painful.
