The holidays have always been weird for me. But it almost always means work as well. Ever since I started with Powerlight back in '98, I've worked just about every holiday season. Every Thanksgiving, every Christmas. This year was the first Thanksgiving I'd had off in quite a while. And after eating the cardboard that posed as the turkey my wife's daughter made, I'd have rather eaten one of those Jennie-O turkey slabs you can get at Wal-Mart for three or four bucks. And with Steppen Stonz playing the next four weeks in a row (next week at the Nugget in Sparks, the next three after that in Carson City at the Station), I'll be busy as hell. That is, if I'm still working my courier route. If not, then everything is up in the air except for Joy and I, as we'll be heading north for absolutely certain.
At least Christmas in a hotel room in Carson City is better than in a pop-up trailer in Reno. I can walk around a hotel room naked without fear of hypothermia. (Sorry about the visual!) One way or another though, it'll be our last here in Nevada. Joy's illnesses have gotten to the point where she won't be able to handle another summer here, so we'll move home no later than this upcoming May or so. Our friends and families back home are eager to see us in Olympia, Yelm, Port Angeles, and other places around the Puget Sound. I'll probably still commute to gigs in Nevada if the situation calls for it. But I think I've had just about enough of doing this for a living. I'd like to be able to do this for fun again. I don't think that's a realistic scenario here in Nevada.
I'm tired of the backstabbing. I'm tired of people making things up about me. I'm tired of playing to people who're only interested in getting another royal flush, no matter if they're eating ramen at home and the lights got turned off yesterday. I'm tired of the barely disguised desperation I see around me and within me, that feeling that the razor's edge I'm walking on is only getting sharper. That my own margins are getting narrower. That my wife's health is in decline.
I miss green.
I miss rain. Not that pelting rain we get here when thunderstorms roll through, but the gentle rain that I never had a problem walking around in, or better yet playing rugby in. To quote the Blink-182 song "Dammit", I guess that this is growing up. But growing up means dealing with the situation to the best of my ability, and that's just what I'll do for the next few weeks, until the run of gigs is over, and we'll have a better picture of what's to come. And as always dear reader, I'll keep you posted.
PS: I'm finally gonna stop being a wuss-bag and get a tattoo, from Joy's favorite artist, Ali Deceunynck at No Boys Allowed in Sparks. I should be getting it right around Christmas, So I'll post a few pictures when the deed is done.