Some days are meant for elegant prose, others for pictures of puppies in a tub, lifting the beleaguered spirits of a certain guitar playing degenerate on the final day off of a marathon tour.
I left my house on Sept 17th and won’t be back until January, but at least in three days I’ll be luxuriating under a palm tree with a stack of books and a beer.
After every multi-month tour, you come back a different person, and in the company of sea turtles regarding my dad bod with appropriate disinterest, I’m excited to take stock of where I’m at and where I’m headed. But, for now, I’m tired. Enjoy the pooches.