I have just arrived home, and I am drunk. Sort of. Not like I used to be drunk. Just nicely drunkish. Three beers and one shot of bourbon, plus two big glasses of water and a plate of sweet potato fries. I feel GLORIOUS. WONDERFUL. FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC.
I sang tonight. I went to the jam at my local pub, where G and I have been regular patrons since I moved here. The owner knows me, the wait staff knows us, and I sang. I sang tonight, with a group of musicians. A guitarist, a bassist, a stickman, and I think some harmonica was in there. I sang When Love Comes to Town. BB King made it pretty famous, but I have a fabulous version with Joss Stone and Jonny Lang, off of Herbie Hancock's album from a few years ago. Kick ass, man, kick some fucking ass. I sang, I yelled it out, and those guys played like fire. It was AWESOME.
I have SO MISSED THAT.
This is my local, hometown place, where I have always felt comfortable, like everyone knows my name. I think that's what made the difference. I felt at home there. I guess that's really all that matters, in the end.
So, I can't wait to tell my voice coach on Sunday. He'll flip, maybe. I think he'll be pleased that I had the balls to get up and sing with a combo.
I feel great.