Upcoming Attractions!

I’m dangerously close to embarking upon 10 years of reliving the same scenario over and over. Some people might say it’s a blessing; others may classify it as insanity. I’m still unsure what to call it.

Said scenario launches into: Midnight and I’m still packing my bags. Wishing for only for a quick weekend trip with friends, but no, they’re being packed – again – for a 53-day journey. Destinations: 17 cities in North America.

Next, the 5 stupid 30 alarm bolts thru my head and I must peel myself from MY incredibly comfortable bed. I arise, come into being and start the pilgrimage to the sacred place of another rock & roll tour. My quest, undertaken, for the votive purpose of paying homage to yet another talented artist or band. Those gloriously glamorous, aloof & wealthy beings that willing whisk me all over the world.

My amazing brother, Scott, shows up without fail to the beach house to extract me from peace, to aid in thrusting me into a world of chaos. If I don’t leave the beach, I can’t collect stories for this book I keep threatening to write. I begrudgingly bang my suitcases down two flights of stairs and throw them into the back of his SUV.

Hello Tampa International Airport – your frequent flier is back!

Overweight luggage fees, again; collect boarding pass (aisle seat please) then I scurry to security for my cheap feel on a Friday afternoon from a TSA lady named Doris.

Take off, flight then landing.

Check in, sleep and then check out.

Venue load in at 5 stupid 30 (in the morning), enjoy chaos all day then load out until 1am.

Crawl into my coffin on the tour bus after a 20-hour workday, take blue sleeping tablet, watch Dexter on my ipod – drift off to sleepy land to wake in another city and quite possibly another country.

Point A to B flash forward to Z then resume A to B to Z over & over again.

This lifestyle is not designed for you to keep up; it’s designed for you to keep going.

Wow and only 51 days until my return to beach house.

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At home decompressing

I simply cannot claim ownership of having “a life.” I don’t dare call the current one I lead my very own. Actually, if I’d had “a life” I’m not convinced I’d recognize it but yet, I’ve not given definition to the statement; “having a life.” The direction to which I’m currently lead and often pulled by passport leash, I certainly do NOT call “having a life.” At one time I did, but now… no so much. I am exhausted restless and can’t keep up.The last 10 years of living “the life” has been at the whims, exhaustion and mercy of others with status I simply do not have but merely inherit by association; while in residence of managing their many lives of glamorous chaos. To those with civilian status – I’ve the most incredibly lead life! Hell, if I could reside in the heads of others and parade around in the fantasies they paint in what they THINK is my life – then I would say – hell yes! I have a life! But the sad reality is lost in the glamour of the names I work for and with that, no one could think my life could be any less glamorous than those I’m associated with. And this, my dear reader, is so beyond far from truth. I’m just allowing those, far more bewitching than thy self, to drag my lovely ass around this world just so I can save money. The money that grants the luxury of taking a sabbatical; then I’ll hire myself to do as I wish. Sounds silly doesn’t it? But really, what’s the difference between working towards retirement and me working towards socking enough cash away to run for the hills from those mighty rock stars to figure out the next stage in what was allegedly my life?

I need a life and want a life. I want a significant other, I want a home, I want stability – I want, I want, I want – and yes, I need those things too. But first, I need a life.

Ah, my mazy life.

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