June 29, 2014

I Might Be Rusty, But I Got My Social Tetanus Shot

I got up behind a microphone tonight for the first time since . . . I think it was February.  Before that, I can't remember the last time.

I'll cop to a bout and a half of anxiety, where the idea of leaving the house felt like someone strapped a shipment of phone books to my back, pointed to a hill, smacked me on the ass, and said, "Get to trudging, Sisyphus.".  I can also say that it was not an uncommon thing for me to get home so worn out from 8 hours of squeezing empathy from my turnip heart that the last thing I wanted was to risk having to give a shit somewhere else.  Somewhere along the way, I fell into an affair with my couch.  After a while, its whispering got stuck in my head.  It would tell me things like: