It's Friday afternoon in Kentucky, and I have the stereo turned up full blast to drown out the silence. The house is dull and lifeless now that Helena and Sara have gone back to Texas. My dog, Riley, and I are in perfect agreement on how to feel about this newly empty house. He wandered around all morning sniffing hopefully for his playmates. Eventually he gave up and lumbered over to lay his snout in my lap, with a disgruntled doggy sigh. I can only scratch his ears in agreement. I miss the soft soulful blues of Alex's Martin in the morning, the stomp of Sara's red pumps as she whips off another fiddle tune, the full bodied laughter and shuffle of dancing feet in the kitchen. The house seems to sag on itself with the sudden removal of Helena's strong presence. The only signs that six extra warm bodies recently filled this house are the guitar picks on the piano, and the Blue Moon in the fridge. Well, that and Helena's hair that I just cleaned out of the sink.
I just realized that I sound like a teenager that's just been dumped. I can't help it though, I miss them! It gets even more pathetic; I've been walking around with Helena's pick in my pocket all day. Every now and then I pull it out and rub it absent mindedly. It's worn away at the point from hard strumming, and you can't really read the inscription any more.
Ok, emo fest is over.
So everybody is gone and the question remains: what the hell do I do with the rest of my month?
What the ---- I will do with the rest of my month:
-call Sara and Helena on the road, reminisce about tour, sing Cowboy Take Me Away on phone
-drink last Blue Moon at exactly 7:00 pm EST, while they drink other two I put in car kit
-test new recipes
-transcribe bass/banjo and bass/mando duets.
-listen to great records
-get paint on my clothes (and maybe on some canvases too)
-go: to shows, dancing, to my grandma's house to see her orchid which is blooming
-pick and grin
-turn 21. flirt with bartenders. order a white Russian in a bad fake accent while wearing Daniel's faux fur hat.
-reacquaint self with real world. (Hello real world. You suck.)
-wear Sara's cardigan over the clingy clubbing shirt I usually can't wear in public. Miss my Belles some more.
Note: if you are in Louisville, and these sound like things you would like to participate in, you should call me.