Act I
A cold seat. The sun isn't even out yet, and I find myself rushing out the door, 3 different bags in possession. I'm fumbling for the keys, the damn car is slow to react to the remote lock/unlock apparatus. It's really frigid out, like to the point of giving me the pee chills, making me second guess actually starting the car to leave, or go inside and, well, pee.
I digress, and drive into the still, cobalt morning.
Act II
Act III
Spoiler Alert: Everyone dies. It's only a matter of when, and with or without whom.
I think I said the f-word about thirteen times today. It was one of those days. It was a day when the pile got stacked so high, that I got so overwhelmed that I thought, "What's the use?"
The problem with me is that I am too real most of the time, and mostly fake when it really matters. And I try to be relatable, and I try my damnedest. I resolved that I want to always meet someone where they're at in life, even if the situation is Pluto to my Mercury. We all rotate around the same sun. We all break the same. I get home, after only a few hours of sleep, early morning music, long list of work tasks piling up - and I think I'd give up and move to Barbados if I didn't have an assistant. Leading is hard, because you have to lead. It's not a show, or a performance one night every few weeks - it's really people expecting some substance and life and rawness out of you. Or me, in this case.
Act IV
I lay here in bed, drowning in a sea of blankets. Jameson, Irish Whiskey. No music. No noise. Let the ringing in my ears lull me to sleep.
Another day goes by, and I'm headed somewhere, but I'm not yet on high enough ground to scope out where this is going. God does know, and sometimes tells me.
End Scene
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