The crow on the road

I recently made a trip out to nashville with a couple of bandmates for a show. It was a quick turnaround - drove 8 hours there, played a show, slept overnight, drove 8 hours back. I was anxious about the trip, the usual bathroom anxiety I always struggle with. With the help of an industrial quantity of ginger and saltines, my stomach finally settled down, though. Two hours into the drive back.

I've been asked by a bunch of people if I'd do it again. The crow says no, it was anxiety inducing and I was sick and there was altogether no need to be so uncomfortable and unsafe, and probably, everyone hated me for how needy I was being. But I also don't want to stay home all the time. Maybe I need to figure out how to travel. Or maybe, as I've written endlessly, music just isn't the right motivator. We played a small show in a dingy venue that probably can't really be called a bar. I love playing shows outdoors, in backyards and on porches - these nightlife venue shows I don't like, though. Is that enough?

I don't want to listen to the crow all the time, that makes me a dull girl.

While we were driving through the appalachian foothills, I nearly cried. I was a touch emotional from the sickness, but the sight of tree-covered hills broke my pacific northwest mountain girl heart, I missed my home and yearned for my past when I could handle being grimy and sweaty and alive somewhere on a backcountry trail in the north cascades. I'm missing out on a chance to go to hoh rainforest this summer because I instead need to work an internship baby-sitting Claude while it helps my company earn its next billion in revenue. Maybe I need to road-trip out to nature instead, go camping with my best friend, and my little bitch-ass crow heart will need to just deal with being a bit sweaty so mama can get her tree-hugging time.