I'm deeply tired. I'm not normally up this late. I'm also deeply wired because I drank a fake cappuccino (from a machine at the Exxon 50 miles away and over an hour ago) and I feel like doing a bit of multitasking. I'm petting Bash, who's doing his best neglected baby routine (he has been all alone for about 7 hours, so I forgive him--I'd forgive him in any case), I'm writing this, I'm smoking, I'm singing along to Lucinda (oh Lucinda) Williams and still my mind chatters at me, senselessly.

Drove over this evening to Frances's. First I had to get Jeff beer because they live in a dry county, a fact that I did not know. I mean, I didn't know dry counties still existed, actually. Then I got going on autopilot and went the wrong damned way for quite a time before I realized my mistake and backtracked, so I was running late, which always makes me nervous, stupidly nervous, because most people do run late most of the time. I still got to catch up with Buddy and admire Jeff's new haircut and the work they've done on their house. It looks good. And just exactly like them. Jeff showed me how they open the back door off of their bedroom at night and I wish I had a door to the outside in my bedroom. I spied a secret pinup of both Frieda Kahlo and Dolly Parton on the wall in their room too, tucked behind a wardrobe. I love secret things. Even unintentionally secret things.

Me and Frances went up the road to see Drive By Truckers (as per my guestbook). It was a house concert, therefore the band played on the back porch of someone's house and we, the audience, spread out in what I guess you'd call the backyard. It was a beautiful field and there was a pond too and a friendly as can be dog roaming around. I'd never been to a house concert before but I love the idea of them. We were worried for a bit that the crowd was too Chapel Hill (so white, so many mercedes and BMWs, so many bottles of wine (I would never bring wine to a show. Shoot me dead if I ever want to do that), so many REI folding chairs), but they got going later in the night. I still wish the place had been a little lower rent, though. It's just my preference.

We ended up, for a time, next to Thad Cockrell, who we'd gone to see back in March or April, I forget, and we both got all self-conscious (me and Frances, that is) because he's quite the rock star. Of course he's not at all, and if you know who Thad Cockrell is, you know I speak the truth. But I did think it was funny how, when the dog came to give old Thad his kisses, he (Thad, that is) pushed him away in a very unfriendly rock star way.

The band played, sometimes too quiet for me to hear real well, but they got louder (and drunker) as the night wore on and they sounded pretty good to me. Mostly we just talked and let the band play on in the background. That was pretty good to me too. Fact is, it's rare that I can really listen to the music at shows. I get so easily distracted by looking at people. It's like my senses have been prioritized and hearing came in dead last. The only two ways (well three, but I'll get to that last one in a second) I know to listen to music: all by myself or drunk--a state of being which is like it's own sensory deprivation tank. The third way, which is the best way, is seeing someone like Michelle Shocked play. I had to pay attention to her. No choice. She made me.

Ramble bamble babble boo.

The band was not, contrary to what you may have heard, any of the following (and I quote): trucks, guns, liquor & mom: original kick-ass psychobilly from the deep south.

It was strange driving those old highways ("desolate highways" says Frances). I used to spend half my life driving them that year I lived over in Pittsboro. I love all the country land and town names and truck stops and diners and everything around those parts but I still hate all that driving. Commuting to school, to work, to the bookstore or the drug store or any store other than Food Lion, driving at least an hour to see friends. All that cured me of any romantic notions I might have once held about the open road. I missed, tonight, too, having Basho as my driving companion. We've traveled over many a desolate highway together.

A pretty good day, all told. I finished the project I've been working on--a book for Frances, actually. It's the first book I've made. It's basically a mess, and animal hair is all stuck in the glue and the tape and it ain't ever coming off, and the covers don't close right because I kept putting more and more stuff on each page. But I imagine I figured out a few things--what definitely not to do and what works out all right. I've got a couple more projects lined up and hopefully they'll keep me away from this dread machine.

Oh damn. Today (yesterday?) was Sue's birthday. Damn damn damn. I didn't call.

Ah, well. Goodnight moon. Time to fret myself into a restless sleep.