It's 1:05 am out here on the west coast. I am exhausted. And I have been crying uncontrollably for about an hour or so now. Not big boo-hoo's, nothing like that. It's just that the tears won't stop rolling down my face.
I'm on the road, opening for Edwin McCain, AGAIN.
I love the man, I do, but his people are not my people. (mostly...there are a few who "get" me but it's RARE)
Tonight was the first night of the tour at the House of Blues in San Diego. I was the opening act, as I will be on every show on this tour. Every venue has a local act that will play after me and before Edwin.
Anyway, the room was pretty full, Michael, my guitarist and I were playing well and the sound filled every nook and cranny with a lovely resonance. I told jokes and people laughed and seemed to like the music. I suppose. I mean, they clapped and didn't talk during my set which, for those of you who've tried playing in front of people who don't know you, is AWESOME.
Then the next act went on.
You couldn't have found a person who looks more opposite of me.
Skinny.
Blond.
Er...
Skinny.
Blond.
Oh yes, and tan. Like brown.
If you pushed all of my freckles together into once place, say...my shin, I might possibly be as tan as she was. On my shin.
Her music was nice, her voice was nice, she did a nice job. I didn't stay for her whole set as Michael and I hadn't eaten yet and we were STARVING.
She sold 20 CDs.
I sold 5. And those were to the four dear friends that I got into the show on my guest list and one nice lady named Toby who apparently follows Edwin anywhere she can. So...right.
The lithe, brown, blond? The LBB?
Her name is Dawn. Men hovered around her like butterflies and she would raise her eyelashes and flutter them about, lifting her brown hand coyly to cover her bright smile and laugh a laugh that sounded like little tinkling bells.
I watched this in amazement and then, upon turning, promptly walked into a wall, causing the man next to me to grab my arm and say,
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, " I replied turning crimson, "I haven't yet mastered the whole rearranging my atoms thing very well yet."
He then looked perplexed and I tried to stammer out an explanation which only made it worse. I made my escape, through a door this time, and went to get the rental car that was parked in the parking deck across the street. It cost me TWENTY- TWO DOLLARS to get it out.
I pulled up in front of the entrance, threw on the hazards and then was told that I wasn't allowed to park there AT ALL. I had to move to the other side of the street. So around a couple of blocks I went, grinding my teeth and trying not to feel like a failure.
What am I doing wrong?
Is it because I'm not pretty enough?
Is my music boring?
Why am I doing this?
It's so hard not to feel discouraged when these songs are pretty much my heart and soul put to melody. When people respond with a "meh...I like the skinny blond girl's songs better..." I feel even more damaged than I already am.
Who am I fooling?
People love it when I sing other people's songs.
"I love it when you sang that song at church!"
Yes. That was my voice, singing someone else's heart and thoughts. But my heart and thoughts?
Meh.
So, I've been crying. Mostly I think from frustration at myself for even being bothered by this. There's this part of me that always pulls myself up by my bootstraps and says,
"Get over it. Get over yourself. Just deal. You're not dying, you're not allowed to wallow."
But yet...my heart hurts.
Rejection hurts.
All of this is coming, too, at a time when I am trying to figure out what role music should play in my life. I've struggled with this for a long ASS time. My darling Zack tells me he's torn too, between whether I should pursue music full time or have me at home with him. He says that he feels selfish thinking that because, according to him, I have something to offer people and he thinks I need to do something with it.
I want both.
I need to get some sleep as we have to get up and drive to north LA tomorrow.
I'd love some feedback about the pursuing music thing. I'm not looking for compliments or pats on the back. I'm looking for honesty here. I'm needing some friends to help me through this. I don't have many friends. Of those friends not very many are women. Of those, none of them are a musician and a mommy and a wife all at the same time.
I'm longing for community.
Ah, but that's another post altogether, and tears of a different kind.
G'night.