I'm home for a few minutes now, tho, to put my feet up for 15 min.s, walk the dog, hydrate, comb my gorgeous locks (aka the dead cells coming out of my scalp in strings), and get dressed. I just got new black pants in the mail, so if they fit i won't be wearing the serviceable but kinda high-waters ones I've used for the past few black-pants shows. My knees are rather a mess again, so it turns out it's probably a good thing I arranged to be a stool sitter tonight. Had a stretch of good weeks recently and thought maybe I'd just stand after all.
Somehow the shows really take it out of me physically, however, either way. And emotionally, it all depends. I think I know the songs just fine, though, and the talk/joke bits are mostly gonna come across fine. And the frustrating potentially botchy spot --- so what? No one will be killed by it bombing. There's bombing and there's bombing.
Ach, I'd better get this cat offa me and get going. I could sure nap. But I'll put a few cough drops in my pockets instead and head on out.
Sure on this shining night I'll nearly weep for wonder, wandering far alone, this side the ground. If I'm cremated I'll be this side the ground longer than many, but it'll all get mixed up again eventually, before long, in the cosmic scheme of things. There's big picture, and there's big picture. It's all relative.