Epiphany

I had an epiphany last night.

First, I must give you some background to this story. I'm in the habit of having a mini-meltdown the day I play a show. I freak out about how I haven't practiced, how I'm going to be horrible and make a fool of myself ... even if I know that only five people will show up. Such was the case at my Stetson Station shows - where the only people who saw the whole thing were the employees, my boyfriend, and my good friend Amanda - and at my 169 Bar show. (For the Wicked Willy's show, I was too focused on getting my keyboard to the venue to freak out.) Last time this happened, I complained to Dan, "I hate how I fall to pieces before every show." "Then don't!" he replied.

The logical antidote would to be more prepared, yet I've barely practiced in weeks. I meant to squeeze in some last-minute practicing last night, but I was exhausted and went to bed instead. And yet, in my dark cozy cave of a room so conducive to sleep, I couldn't fall into it. My mind was racing thinking about the show I would play tonight, but not in the typical nervous pattern - in an excited one.

It's usually nearly impossible for me to get out of bed in the morning - I have to set one alarm by my bed and one down underneath the loft, otherwise the artificial darkness overpowers my will to start the day.

This morning, I was so stoked for my show that I woke up before my alarm.

I think you can guess what the epiphany was.