Campfyre Stories

So I wasn’t feeling the open mic, but I forced myself to go anyway.  Once I got there, one of the two regular hosts wasn’t there and, looking around the crowd, I got a strong feeling of not wanting to play this time around.  So I didn’t.

Slockin and I hung around the bar, then hooked up with another friend and went to a different bar.  My plans to get home early and get some (fucking) sleep (already) were thwarted and I didn’t get home until 1.  I am reminded why I initially made the decision to do this every other week.

You see…

I left work and was subjected to a pathetic desperate loser on the bus who blatantly propositioned me at least three times, in increasingly desperate fashion ("How’s this, I’ll bring my kids over, sleep in your bed and we’ll have a sleepover with all the kids."  Um, ew.  Like, seriously, EW.)  Yeah, this wonderful catch has two kids and an ex wife who left him for another man and moved to Washington.  But he’s got a good job washing dishes at Denny’s!  Oh, and, he’s really tired of being single, and so lonely and don’t I want to rescue him from himself?

Yeah, not so much.

When I got off the bus, I ran some errands and then did my shopping for two weeks, encountering all of the slowest people on the planet in the process.  For example, the extremely elderly woman who insisted on digging through her purse for exact change.  And on and on and on.

Waited for 40 (!) minutes for the cab to come, though I, thankfully, got a very cool driver who had great stories to tell and a fun accent to listen to.  This made up for the wait, to some extent, but didn’t change the fact that I got home at 7:30; with barely enough time to eat and change before going out.  I did not have time to shower or to practice, so yeah, not a fantastic start to an intent to perform.

The point, if I actually started with one, is that I’m tired.  So very tired, and reminded of why I don’t do this every week anymore, or why I wasn’t, and probably won’t do it very often.