London In My Nose

"I'm wiped, I'm so tired."

So sang Kristin Hersh last night, and I wholeheartedly concur. Although, in the same song she also provided this pearl of wisdom, "Your guitar's a race car, sex is your best friend." Obviously a little less accurate, in my case.

My grand tour of 3 gigs in 3 cities in 3 days (two of which were school nights) is now over and I'm left with a large hole in my wallet, a slightly nauseous feeling in my navel, the constant yappy dog yipping of coach indicators ringing in my saddlebags and a mind full of half remembered tunes. I feel as if I have been burning a strange shaped candle at all twelve of its ends and my inner cylon is sexily telling me that it's time to sleep.

But the unstoppable torrent of post pay day packages are clogging up the stairwell and I cannot rest until each and every one is ripped open in a rabid frenzy, oohed & ahhed over and assimilated into my waning consciousness. Unique badges must be placed about my person, Mr. "I'm Free" Humphries must be mourned and the rest of London must be blown from my nasal cavities. A slackers work is never done. Literally.


Currently listening: Neon Bible by Arcade Fire