Peripatetic Life

Shaking off the cobwebs. Not literally cause that would freak Angie out. Waking up in a strange place and wondering how the hell she got here. Again. One long road trip, night after night, anonymous hotels, motels, load in, load out. Hello Patchogue! How you doing,  Pawtucket! Weeks turn into months and big things like money and sales don't matter anymore. She misses her cat. She even misses G, her on-again off-again lover who right now more than anything she wishes was on again this tour. Careful what you wish for. It's hard to say no, having drank the kool aid as an impressionable, ambitious young artist. Always take the gig, go where the work is, it's all about the work, it's the only thing that matters. At the expense of everything else. No home, no family, no partner she can call her own. Emotionally, socially stunted. Even her cat prefers her neighbour. She would too really, seeing as he's home and remembers to change the litter every day. She's missed every wedding, funeral, anniversary and graduation. Her family doesn't speak to her anymore yet thousands of fans hang on to her every word, every performance, tweet, post and random act of nonsense. She's nothing special. It's dumb luck. Plenty of far more talented women out there doing what she does much better. Work begets work and when the train leaves the station you bloody well better be on it or you'll be waiting on that platform, swallowed by  throngs of others who are anxious for a seat on the next ride out. Mornings like this one she craves the comfort of her crappy little studio apartment with the clanging rads, creaky wood floors, leaky taps and obnoxious building manager. It catches her off guard, the longing for familiar discomfort, sneaks up when Angie least expects it. Mornings are the worst. The clock radio clicks on. Good morning Peachtree City.

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