Badge of Honor

Four days in Nashville, no longer swimming quite so catastrophically in jet lag, at the trusty Red Bicycle, tapping away on the ol’ keyboard. I’m back, baby! Thank you for tolerating my semi-coherent posts while I was returning to a semblance of normalcy.

The hardest part of touring remains that sense of well, now what? Epic adventures, screaming crowds, cheesing in front of selfie sticks, and then, what, the freaking grocery store? An oil change? The goddamn DENTIST?! It’s like hitting a brick wall, every time.

In a sense, this is where jet lag comes into its own. 2am work outs and 4am trips to an already dubious Kroger solidify a satisfying and still necessary sense of otherness, and all there is to do for the better part of a week’s allow thoughts to roll around one’s depleted noggin, trusting it’ll all make sense when it’s time.  

Fellow touring weirdos, I hope the YouTube rabbit holes are plentiful, and furiously cleaning your house at 5am out of sheer desperation is, in fact, a badge of honor.