Ahoy Click Clack Gorilla readers! I’ve been back from tour since Monday, but feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck, I’ve been far more interested in things like hot water bottles, naps, and broth than in writing. Add to that the fact that my internet-on-a-stick (a usb stick to be exact) isn’t working, and you have yourself a lazy blogger.
Tour was amazing and stressful and, well, amazing, and once I get my pictures off my camera and my thoughts organized and digested I’ll tell you all about it. We played at a squatted tennis court, at a Kindergarten, and at a big festival. We camped, and we slept in people’s apartments and the bed we had in the back of the bus. Not a single show was weird or fucked in any way, and we all made it home in one piece, or five pieces, depending on how you look at it.
As fun as it was, I was glad to be home, and the first time I walked into my wagon everything had this magical sheen to it, a welcome-home glow reflecting off of every book on my shelf, a warm feathery hug from every blanket on my bed. I had gotten so used to spending every day in the bus, every evening in a different venue, and every night in a different bed, that I’d actually managed to forget what it felt like to be home, to putter about in my normal daily routine, if you could even call it that. It was god damn glorious. As much as it may seem like I am a traveler, what I like most of all is to be at home among the meticulously selected twigs that make up my lovely nest.
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