Originally published on my other blog, blahblahblah.pyradraculea.com
Somewhere out of the Abyss the thought bubbled up into my head that the only way to heal certain old wounds is to rip them open again. Kinda like if a bone is broken and not reset correctly the surgeon must break it again and pin it back correctly for it to heal properly.
In my case we’re talking about my so-called music career. More specifically, playing live and facing all the skin-crawling, panic-inducing, stress-shocking psychological ickiness that goes with it.
I’m getting too old for this, as the old Fen song goes. (It’s OK, I know you don’t know who they are, that’s why you should have listened to my old radio show…)
Well, my guitar teacher was dropping hints about we should work on one of my songs sometime. He’ll get his wish when I can’t figure out how to play the solo I programmed into “Manifest.”
And maybe come Candlemas I’ll be ready to start guilt-tripping my friends into letting me open for them.
