These tour days are so short. We drive to the city we are playing, our little band of sisters, be in Portsmouth, NH/Ridgefield, CT/Concord, NH/Portland, ME/Burlington, VT – this week is New England’s turn to be wherever, we get to the hotel for a 2 hour bout of fighting with the snooze buttons on our phones, we load into the venue, we eat a meal of varying quality and satisfaction and we do a show, sometimes 2, but this week, it’s just 1, which is enough really, I think.

There’s wine after, and then a very brief ideation of going out, having another drink somewhere, but almost 200% of the time this fizzles, and we are back in our cheapie motel beds within minutes.

For me there’s some futile moments online and on text, trying to retie some strings that have come undone on my long journey. Everyone’s got their ritual. Mine involves a too hot then too long bath and simultaneous painful construction of messages in my head that get sent and regretted right away. I think Selene watches tv. Sometimes I can hear pawn stars through the thin walls. I watch it in my mind also, with my bionic hearing.

I marvel that my iphone can be both a person I love and a person I hate. Suddenly, the blank face of it changes and the name of whoever spreads across it and this little piece of glass and intel metamorphoses into flesh and blood and voice. Call me sometime, if you think of me. It gets lonely out here without you.

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