My head aches

I'm sitting on a grandmother's couch in a cafe / wine bar / music venue in Oakhurst / Decatur / Atlanta, GA called Kavarna. It is five minutes to 9 and I'm slated to perform in two hours.

I couldn't be less enthusiastic. No- that can't be true. I've surprised myself in the past with tremendeously low amounts of enthusiasm, even venturing into the negatives realm at times. At the moment, though, I am very tired (I left at noon today, anticipating a long hike. It was a very long hike, and guitar in hand no less. I got in around two or so, if I remember correctly, which landed me a solid nine hours before my scheduled performance. I dropped my hardshell load in a back hallway and slumped across the street to Steinbeck's, a neighborhood pub owned and run (at least while I was there) by an Irishman with whom I got along just fine. We talked a lot and drank Guinness (putting me at four drinks before the hour of five), I read my book (God Knows by Heller), and finally returned to Kavarna, where I read more, ordered a cup of coffee, sipped a bit from this cup, met the ever-so-Nashville kids who were playing before me and who had invited me to play in the first place, tried to be friendly and conversational to no avail, and just generally avoided people) and sitting with a very good glass of wine at my side with a notable headache.

The redheaded girl who is playing right now just sang something to the effect "lovers sitting beneath the light of the moon." It is definitely not the most offensive-sounding music I've ever heard, but it is irrevocably bland and trite in kind of the worst way possible. I'm just in a bad mood, that's all.

And I'm afraid that I'm getting to be depressed, or something similar. Discouraged, yes, but that's nothing new. The hazy, empty non-breeze that I walk home to every night feels hauntingly familiar and, to be frank, it is nothing short of frightening. I am lonely, sure, but the unfortunate part is my inability to miss anyone in particular, to think about much of anything besides the shit hole that is my apartment and the lackluster job that is my life. When I think about it, this is not unusual behavior for me, but I've always had friends (real friends) nearby to knock me out of it, to be unintentionally uplifting and encouraging... anyways. Blogs are the pits.