Not much to report today, other than I am mothersnotting sick. So’s everyone else, but they did the sensible thing and stayed in bed. I’m not sure why I’m still keeping up appearances now that I’ve been made permanent, but let’s just say I’m going to need all the support I can get from these people some day in the not-too-distant-not-too-certain-yet future.
Last night I got on the banjo and worked out my new pieces with few problems. It feels really good to be able to put together what I’ve learned so far and see (well, hear) tangible results. Bruce says it sounds very professional, and while that may be true for the indie sensibility that can seemingly forgive just about any vocal and/or musical travesty (not to name any names), I don’t think I’ll be booking any shows just yet.
This morning on the radio, Patti Smith said that it takes far too much energy to be cynical and that seeing her dog running towards her is enough to make her smile. I’m sure it is easier to don bell-bottoms and pretend that the last forty years didn’t take place but some of us don’t have billion dollar contracts or a big home or even a dog to run at us, so. Go and feed a whale some granola beneath an endangered tree, hippie.
Wow, getting a root canal with my sinuses perpetually draining out my right nostril is going to be ‘super duper fun’ (as one ‘super duper fun’ colleague from long ago might have put it). I’m hoping the illness overrides the fear and not the reverse, but I’ll let you know tomorrow or whenever my face lets me form a coherent thought.
In better news, Bil is definitely coming in May and we are all going to ATP before we head over to Iceland for…ice. And mist. And green rolling hills? No idea, really.
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