Don’t have much time to type. My stomach feels terrible – foamy, sort of. We’re up again and moving far earlier than I want to be, and I’m questioning the wisdom of my path. Going to visit my old friend, Nicole SEEMED like a good idea at the time, but that was before actually trying to regain consciousness this morning. We worked HARD last night, and my body feels like it’s been beaten with sticks – and despite the singularly orgasmic shower I took last night, the North Carolina clime is assuring me that already I feel sticky and kind of grimy…. Not exactly the way I’d like to appear to Nicole. Hah – her parents have moved down here too, so I get to be reintroduced to the whole clan. A lot of memories stored up there.
On the one hand. I guess it’s good that I have a whole lot of old friends scattered all over the place, but they make me keenly aware of how I’ve aged, and I worry about judgement sometimes. Every once in a while one DOES express concern about how I’ve sort of failed to take a “correct” or “adult” path… some people we inspire, others we just seem to worry.
Man but I do feel terrible. Nightmares last night, sort of extended from the sylvan environments of last night – Caffe Driade (“caf ay dree ah day”) was beautiful, and despite all of our experiences, I really haven’t been any place at all like it. More than anything, it reminded me of Davies Memorial Unitarian Universalist Church in Camp Springs, MD. Surrounded by woods and with paths and clearings that extend far beyond the actual structure. Lit by candles and small flood lights, people get their coffee from the deliciously lit building at the centre and then wander out to the scattered tables that you find growing like cast-iron mushrooms out in the woods.
In the deep darkness of the North Carolina woods you find yourself blinded by contrasts of light and colour and being visited by creatures, flying, crawling and imaginary. For the first couple of minutes of the gig… maybe even through the first half of the first set, I was pretty distracted – swatting and glancing over my shoulder. Nibbling at the back of my brain came Blair Witch and Ring imagery, of creeping fingers and darkened holes. My imagination is far too visual – far too active.
The actual show went really, really well – a lot of fun, good tips, sold CDs. I got to play my baritone!
That night we went back to our friend Jamie’s apartment feeling grimy and beaten. We’d just spent too much time outside over the past 48 hours sans showers, and then carrying all the equipment back and forth after being held soo still be seatbelts for about 18 hours over the same stretch of time – our bodies were screaming in protest. I scored the bed for the night, but Heather got the first shower, and I sat dreaming of the moment when I’d be able to step in and let the precious, hot fluids stream over me. In this one case, the shower was everything I was hoping it would be. So, so sweet.
