Tonight, I quit the band. No ill will, no hurt feelings, though some crystalline moments of sadness and unspoken what-ifs. I am not a band lifer. I'm it in for the ego and the evangelism, the occasioning to wear great outfits. The new EP - fresh from the studio oven - makes me want to convulse because I love it so much. The shrill guitar solos gallop into the sunset and I remark, in my tiny unicorn-y pea brain, just how lucky a girl is when she gets to stint in her favorite band.
After that, I went to the bar, which I love because the water at the bar has ice in it, and I do not have ice for the water at my house. Being a non drinker, having a casual time with 40 minutes til last call... the slackened muscles in the face of the fake Karen O that always tries to pick up Miles, the bored looking loners tapping S-O-S's into the ashtray rims, observing their own smoking with care, the band guys talking about their new guitars, their next tour, the next right move, the people who are way too drunk for a Thursday, the hipsters who watch the door and look over your shoulder at the action while they nod and dole out sympathetic "totally, totally" mots atchoo. The twighlighted post college years, before the Jim beam steals your looks, when the beer is still a party and not yet habitual, adult problems not yet slaying you.
Everyone is still cool.
It's all still cool, man.